


Beggars, all

by SinNotAlone



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caretaking, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Emotional and sexual pain and pleasure, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Intrinsic power difference, Morally Ambiguous Character, Size Difference, Spanking, strangers to lovers to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9087076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: A plague comes to Jakku, and the First Order swoops in to provide aid for the suffering. Captain Phasma, a woman of questionable motivations, persuades a desperate Rey to leave Jakku behind and join the Order. Rey struggles to understand the complexity of her place in the Order and with Phasma.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the incredible [@artyaourter](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com) for gifting me with this [beautiful illustration](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/post/156315404778/i-really-liked-the-idea-of-techie-rey) of Captain Phasma and Technician Rey!

She’d never grow used to being an appendage, Rey thought. All the quips, overheard or directly addressed to her, each began the same way. She was _Phasma’s girl_ never _Rey_. Wiry and hard durasteel, Phasma’s girl—long neck, lean arms, too leggy for someone her size. Phasma must like them rough to take on a girl like that.

On Jakku, Rey had been her own in her entirety, hard and rough, skin brown as the sand that stretched endlessly in every direction. Life aboard a star destroyer had leached away her color, along with so many of her defining characteristics. Her face faded to a wan beige, now indistinguishable in the crowd of life-long spacers aboard the Finalizer, but the amber pools of her eyes still held the warmth of that desert. They flashed, blinded, bright as the sun, anyone who dared to hold them long.

The officer’s mess hall was Rey’s dream and her nightmare—a feast housed in a rancor’s den. Not a meal passed without the heavy mantle of judgment weighing her down. It wore and chafed until her skin began to thicken into armor, though the process was slow, a layer of sediment deposited each tide. This time, Rey held the corporal’s cold eye with her heated gaze. Even across the gulf of tables, she could hear his pride sizzle. He dropped his attention to his plate.

When Rey had first joined Captain Phasma in the officer’s mess, her presence had induced a silent scandal, the insults slung with a low look down a long nose. Phasma did not care to fraternize with others, besides her weekly mug of beer with Lieutenant Mitaka and the rare celebratory cask of something stronger with General Hux. The appearance of someone by her side would have caused a stir, even if that someone had been dressed in an officer’s uniform. The grey coveralls of Phasma’s slender companion marked her out as a technician.

Officers were allowed to bring guests of any rank or order, and no one would dare question Phasma directly. Instead, Rey was the victim of furtive glances in her direction, accompanied by whispers out of earshot, lips barely moving behind the veil of palms. When the scrutiny had started, Rey had floundered for a safe space to retreat into. She had become intimately familiar with the artificial grain of the table top, the way her dishes could be arrayed in an infinite number of asymmetrical arrangements.

Now though, Rey would no longer be cowed. She held her head high, eyes forward. Her nod of acknowledgement was a challenge. She kept tally on a mental list of those who returned it graciously and those who quickly averted their eyes. Some had made the transition from one list to the other, but the holdouts she would remember.

Her standard position was seated just to Phasma’s right—a matter of logistics. The position let her read the room from Phasma’s perspective, so they might share any slights. Moreover, Rey gathered the ceraglass pitcher and cups last, and her seat allowed easy reach to Phasma’s drink. In the morning a carafe of caf joined as well, and she was doubly conscientious to ensure that neither Phasma’s mug nor her glass went empty. Phasma insisted she could fill them on her own, but Rey was stubborn to prove herself useful.

Twice already she’d refilled Phasma’s water this meal, and her glass was approaching the bottom third yet again. After leading a training routine with the troopers, Phasma drank more than usual. Rey reached for the pitcher a third time, and using her left hand to steady the heavy vessel, filled Phasma’s glass to within a centimeter of the brim. No spilled droplets, not anymore. Her hand was steady.

“Thank you, Rey,” Phasma murmured, followed by the quirk of her lips into a half-hearted smile. She was worn, her face in disarray. The smile faded quickly, and her eyes remained cold, no jovial crinkles at their corners. When all signs of the smile were erased, Phasma gazed into the distance with her vacant eyes. Rey didn’t study her face too long. She turned her eyes back to her plate and chased three green peas across the plasteel.

“Frozen veg just doesn’t hold a candle to fresh. It’s a shame we’re three weeks from next port, though I suppose I shouldn’t complain. The ‘troopers barely ever taste fresh.” Phasma commented. Her voice was wistful, quiet, like she was talking primarily to herself. Rey snatched a glimpse of Phasma’s distant blue eyes then nodded and made a vague noise of agreement.

Inside she shrunk. The plenty Rey had experience aboard ship was still difficult to wrap her mind around. A consistent, nutritious supply of food seemed miraculous after years of stale rations on Jakku. So long had the specter of hunger hung over her, the fact that flavor and freshness could be taken into consideration seemed outrageous. She would never begrudge a pea, frozen or not.

The few times the Finalizer had been at port since she came aboard were bewildering. Rey had never imagined the plenty available in other parts of the galaxy. Only dim memories preceded her time on Jakku, and though she had occasionally scavenged rations of a different make from those provided by Unkar Plutt, their flavor was a uniform blandness. The fruit she gleaned when the season was right she had cherished, but the arid climate did not lend itself to efflorescence more than once a year.

Phasma had finagled Rey a place on some of her safer missions, and Rey tagged along to far-flung worlds where they’d wound their way through markets stifling with discordant aromas. They’d navigated labyrinths of stalls sizzling with roasted meats, perused bins overflowing with spices and herbs—sweet, spicy, pungent. And even when Rey wasn’t allowed to join her, Phasma brought her treats, zoochberry pies and zaffa oil crisps.

Phasma seemed to enjoy Rey’s reaction to some items more than Rey enjoyed eating them. She laughed as Rey wrinkled of her nose at the sickeningly saccharine or gulped water to quench a pepper-induced fire. Rey honestly preferred the mild yet savory fare served in the officers’ mess to many of the cordials Phasma proffered. She would never admit this of course. She didn’t want to harm Phasma’s notion that she enjoyed expanding her palate under Phasma’s tutelage.

Rey was still finishing the supposedly less-than-satisfactory peas when Phasma announced she was finished. Phasma always finished first, often well ahead of Rey, especially on training days when her appetite was as voracious as her thirst. She seemed to barely notice the food leaving her plate and never counted her peas the way Rey did.

“I’ll be back a little later than usual tonight, not until 21:00. I hope you’ll still have some energy left by that point,” Phasma intimated. Her big palm pressed against the back of Rey’s little hand and gave a cursory squeeze. The hand trailed up Rey’s arm leaving tingling tracks in its wake. It curled around the back of Rey’s neck, too hot, too close for the venue, but Rey didn’t shrug it off. She waited, stock-still under Phasma’s palm. That ragged smile graced Phasma’s face once more before she pushed back her chair and stood.

Rey forgave the tooth-chipping scrape of durasteel on ferrocrete with her farewell wave. “I’ll make sure to keep a little, just for you,” Rey baited, though it was more than likely that Phasma would fall asleep the moment they lay down together. Still, Rey knew how to lay on just enough coyness to flatter Phasma.

Rey consumed the six remaining peas in two final bites. Three per bite, she had decided upon after she counted the initial number. When the mess-hall gods provided a prime number, it was a struggle, but they had been kind today, supplying 36 plump green peas. She chewed methodically, taking a moment to enjoy the full warmth of her belly. Her plate now clean, she gathered the dishes. With the tower of trays, cups, and cutlery she made her way to the dish receptacle and deposited the stack piece by piece. The chrome doors closed and she could hear the whir of mechanism inside, whisking the dirty dishes back to the kitchen.

A pale face stared back at Rey from those shiny doors. It took a moment to register who the girl was. Her hair was pulled back into a single knot, resting at the base of her neck. The looped coiffure she’d worn on Jakku had felt too conspicuous. She didn’t need another visible marker of her outsider status. Her skin had softened as it faded, veins clearly visible under its increasing translucence. It wasn't all loss and no gain though. Her once hollow cheeks filled until her skeleton was no longer painfully prominent enough to puncture.

She hadn’t been much more than a tanned hide when Phasma found her.

 

* * *

 

The sickness had rolled into Jakku on the winds of a derelict freighter. The traders, smugglers more accurately, were half dead by the time they made it to Niima Outpost. Out of fuel, out of food, they’d been coasting until their ship skidded to a stop in the wasteland adjacent the junkyard. Their landing site revealed sheer desperation. No one would intentionally come to Jakku for aid.

Rey, isolated in her lonely shelter, didn’t catch the rumors, didn’t hear anything until she was waiting in the trade line. Then piecemeal, it came together. How the men and women had begged for relief. Their pleas fell on the deaf ears of Unker Plutt, and he turned them away with a quip about running a business, not a charity. A benevolent member of the Church of the Force had been within earshot and taken them on as an exercise in grace. The church members had rounded the spacers up, attempting to quarantine them while they provided the little help they could. By then it was too late for many.

It was only after overhearing the news that Rey gave a closer look to a man who was slumped by the well. The trade line trailed halfway across the square, near enough the communal facilities, but Rey’s vision was warped by her goggles. She moved them to her forehead and rubbed at the indentations they had left on her sockets. All the time, she watched how the man’s head lolled to one side and sweat streaked across his dusty face. His eyes were lifted skyward in silent supplication. He clutched a water bladder to his chest, and his fingers curled minutely, stroking it as if to sooth the object.

Today’s goods drooped heavy as Rey advanced in the line, her shoulders chafed by the stiff strap of her pack. The shade of the tent was a blessed respite once once she made it inside. Though the sun no longer scorched her neck, her body still screamed from the weight of her burden. Distracted by her discomfort, it wasn’t until she nearly tread on the woman that Rey spotted another collapsed person. She was curled onto her side, shaking like a cowed animal. She released a low whine of pain that wavered along with her convulsions. A fly flitted across her forehead, but she made no move to brush it away.

Rey inched past a pool of green sickness adjacent her feet. She minced her steps to avoid both the mess and the seizing woman.

Rey’s only concern at the moment was eavesdropping on the Zabrak ahead of her in line. He explained to his companion how the fever had spread through the warrens and hovels. Half the people who came in contact were sick within two days. Half again dead within the week. He wasn’t afraid though. All the victims were humans.

Rey grew frigid despite the stagnant summer heat. The blood from her extremities rushed to her chest, feeding the crescendo of palpitations and leaving her fingers numb. The weight of her pack bested her, and the strap stole with it the outer layer of her skin as it slid from her shoulders. She shrugged it the rest of the way off and it plummeted to the ground. The sick women let out a cry at the disturbance caused by the pack, and Rey mouthed an apology, staring at her sorry form but barely seeing it.

“Next,” boomed Unker Plutt.

The whip crack of his voice lashed through the haze that had enveloped Rey, and she jerked back to awareness. She blinked her bleary eyes only to realize that no one stood in front of her. Rather than hoist the pack once more, she dragged it the final few meters. It kicked up a cloud of dust, and when she heaved a breath, she suffocated on a lung-full of particulate.  

“Come on, come on. Don’t keep me waiting.” No signs of ill health tempered Unker Plutt’s acerbity. The Zabrak must have been correct.

A sharp pain shot through her middle as Rey wrestled the salvage out of the pack. She hefted the scrap up onto the counter with arms burning, threatening to fail before she could deposit her meal-ticket. The load had seemed manageable when she packed her speeder, now it was close to insurmountable.

“One half portion,” Unker Plutt declared.

“Is that all? The Zabrak got twice that for no more than a bucket of bolts,” Rey bit out, immediately regretting her retort. Rey had learned long ago that antagonizing Unker Plutt only lead to even stingier rewards in the future. He did not forget, and he certainly would never forgive.

“You think ‘cause your folk are droppin’ like flies I’m suddenly a charity. That ain’t my problem. One half portion. Take it or leave it,” he huffed, his flabby hands flapping with animosity.

Rey swiped the half ration off the counter and trudged away. Her speeder was blessedly nearby, and with her pack empty of salvage she was confident she could make it, but the fitful ride home was a test of endurance. Her weak hands struggled to keep hold on the steering wheel, slipping more than once. The speeder nearly nosed the earth before she could right it. The vibration from the motor burrowed inside her body. She wanted to rip off her goggles to ease the throbbing in her head, but she couldn’t risk being blinded by the sand.

Rey rejoiced when she mounted the last hill, and on the horizon, the crumbling giant she called home came into view. She focused on the fallen AT-AT, latching onto its growing size like a buoy to keep her afloat the last stretch. She could hold out, stay upright, just a few more minutes. She whizzed past the entrance before her hands remembered how to kill the engine on the speeder.

She slid from the seat, her ankles nearly buckling as she hit the ground. Without bothering to secure the craft, she stumbled back toward the entrance. Once she ferreted her way inside, she could do nothing but collapse onto the worn pallet she had designated her bed.

Time became fluid. It rushed past in a torrent of delirium, only to slow to a trickle of pain when consciousness returned. She stripped in fits—her goggles and gloves cast above her head, her tunic and leggings balled at her feet. She shivered and flamed by turns, never enjoying a temperate respite. The mattress felt like a bed of stones under her aching back. Each vertebra proclaimed its distress.

The swollen lumps on the back of her neck seemed close to bursting. She hoped they would, if only to expel the bile of her sickness. The energy it took to focus her eyes was not worth the benefit of sight. If she channeled her scant vitality into a squint, she could make out the cracked chrono that lay at the foot of her bed. But how many times it had already passed 14:00, she was not sure.

Fate had forced Rey into self sufficiency at an early age. Now she regressed to a state as vulnerable as a babe. But this time, no one was there to carry out the simple tasks of which she suddenly found herself incapable. Her small cache of ration packs went untouched. Her bedside water tank dwindled. She told herself, at the count of thirty, she would rise and force a ration down her throat. She made it to the teens before she lost track, starting over once, twice. Finally, after another bout of faintness, she reached thirty.  

In an ambulation half hobble, half crawl, Rey inched toward her stockpile. Her hands quaked as she filled a bowl with water and added the ration pack. Her stomach had been empty so long she felt no hunger, only a vague queasiness at the scent of the food. After the ration dough rose, she stared at it for a long moment before she tore off a piece. She chewed slowly, little morsels sticking to her dry mouth.

Even when the bowl was empty, she remained slumped over it in a stupor, her mind having achieved the static emptiness of abject exhaustion. Her stomach began to churn as her body greedily absorbed the ration. The pangs escalated, but with them came the shock necessary to reawaken her nervous system. Her crawl back to the pallet was interrupted by only one stumble before she blissfully collapsed. She wrapped a worn blanket around her shoulders this time, to cradle herself in lieu of a carer’s embrace.

Quarter portion after quarter portion, Rey eased back into nourishment. The reintroduction of sustenance brought with it the awakening of hunger. The portions were enough to take the jagged edge off the gentle starvation, and her reserves could last a week at this rate, but her convalescence dragged with so little to fuel it. Rey knew that she could not rely on charity to replenish her stores, she must do it herself.

By the time she was down to one remaining portion, Rey propelled herself to act. Steeling herself amidst the unyielding exhaustion, she gathered together her hoarded scrap. It was a hoard that had fuel her dreams of building a better future. She crammed those dreams into her pack. What once would have induced anguish, she now carried out with the detachment of one who has suffered too much and no longer holds the capacity for the luxury of emotion.

Between trips to load her speeder, Rey caught her breath but did not sink to mourning. She panted, canted forward, hands on knees, heaving breaths. Then she pushed on. Her pack bulged, the cording stretched taut, threatening to give way. All of her worthwhile salvage was contained. The junk left—scraps of metal, frayed wire fragments—it wouldn’t even make a full portion.

Rey sat astride the speeder and gazed into the distance, at the dust clouds rising like ghosts on the horizon. Without altering her thousand-meter stare, she started the engine. The rumble shook her spinning head. She plowed through the specters kicked up by the wind, and they vanished behind her.

 

* * *

 

Rey maneuvered her speeder as close as she dared amongst the ramshackle crop of dwellings facing Unker Plutt’s stand. The warrens became increasingly dense closer to the little square that that housed the well, but Rey knew she wouldn’t be able to lug her pack far. She careened between buckling walls, and a low-hanging beam nearly unseated her. The narrow escape forced her to halt her progress before grievous injury stopped her entirely.

Rey wrestled her pack to the stand and praised her luck that there was no line, though Niima Outpost bustled in a way Rey had rarely seen. ‘Troopers in white suits of armor waited at doorways, calling to each other over comlinks. At the other end of the settlement, she could see a figure raised above the crowd, suited in armor that gleamed like liquid mercury.

Rey knew she must accomplish the task at hand before she investigated the crowd. The journey had tired her, and she couldn’t collapse before she replenished her rations. She handed her ransom to the porcine tyrant; four portions was all it brought. Six months ago, it would have been double, treble even. She could last another week if she was careful, but then what? There was no way she could scavenge when she could barely stand.

Rey’s staff formed a makeshift cane, and she leaned heavy on it. On three legs she crept toward the throng that had gathered around the speaker. When she was close enough to make out words, she paused. She looked around to see humans with sunken eyes and sunken cheeks, enthralled before the platinum warrior. More were crawling from their hovels, eyes wide like starving hounds before the promise of a kill.

A clear, polished voice called out, “Under the First Order, no mouth shall go hungry. No person shall suffer the ignominy of beggarhood.”

The crowd mustered the croak of a cheer, more collective moan that jubilation.

The officer continued, “If you're capable of work, join your kind. Do not linger under the yoke of those who care not about the fate of humanity. Leave obscurity and scarcity. Find glory and plenty in the First Order.”

The man in front of Rey glanced at his companion and mumbled something inaudible. A blistering rash covered his neck, crawling who knows how far below the collar of his tunic. His companion was gaunt, with cheekbones protruding sharp as knives and skin that resembled cracked earth. Together they shouldered their way to the front of the crowd.

“These brave men have chosen the right path. The mission they lend their support to is the preservation of humanity’s way of life. Follow their example and protect your brethren who cannot fight. The shuttles leave at dusk. Will _you_ be on them?” The officer shouted her final question, then stepped down from the crate that served as her ramshackle podium. The position did little to detract from her impressive stature. Even with her feet on the ground, her helmet towered above the stunted crowd.

The crowd milled closer and Rey began to feel the crush of the cacophony. She edged back and searched for a quiet place to rest before the journey home. Her shuffle led her toward an impromptu sickward, cordoned off by stakes and shaded by a tarp. The cool of the shade brought a blissful moment of respite, but Rey couldn’t help thinking that when her time came, should would like to see the sky above rather than a dingy tarp. Medical droids buzzed and beeped around the patients, applying bacta to fever blisters and checking bags of fluids. Behind the ward, ‘troopers carried away limp bodies. She could feel the heat of the flame throwers as they incinerated the dead.

Rey stared blankly at the sorry sight of decline and desolation. Entranced by despair, she did not see the chromium suit approach. She seized within her skin when it appeared before her, big enough to block out all other distraction. The mighty officer bore aid kits and ration packs in quantities Rey had never before seen. She straightened her slouch with the aid of the staff and, to hide her vulnerability, raised the shaft across her chest. The officer waved it aside and proffered a box of fresh rations. A dozen portions, all for her, no scavenging, no struggle required. Rey took the box without question.

“You know how to use this?” the officer asked, gesturing to Rey’s staff. There was a hair of mockery in her tone.

Rey coughed and adopted what she hoped was a firm stance. Her voice has been used so little the past week that she sounded hoarse rather than intimidating in her reply. “Course I can. Not carrying it for show.” Rey’s size belied her strength, much to her advantage when faced with hostility.

The officer’s voice remained droll as she said, “Impressive. Any other hidden talents?”

Rey was quick on the rejoinder. “I can fix anything. Droids, speeders, even ships,” she said, wheezing to catch her breath.

“Got hit hard. Didn’t you?” Rey wondered if the face beneath the mask was written with the same pity that edged into the officer’s words.

The officer continued, “Why don’t you come with us. Join the Order. We can use girls with your skill. You’ll never have to worry about going hungry again. And I’ll make sure you get those lungs looked at proper in medbay.”

Without even considering the offer, Rey blurted, “No. No I can’t.” Her fingers dug into the box of rations. She had nearly three weeks worth with this addition. Surely she’d be able to scavenge something before they ran out, though whether Unker Plutt would deem her goods worthy of even a single portion remained to be determined.

The officer continued, patient in her persuasion. “There’s no shame in working for a different master. Have to put food in your belly somehow.”

The high sun glinted off the officer’s helmet, a sharp shard of light that cut into Rey’s head like a stiletto burrowing along her optic nerve. She averted her aching eyes and snapped, “I’m not ashamed.”

A light chuckle emanated from behind the mask, and the officer spoke with condescending levity. “Then what’s keeping you from coming with us. Surely there’s nothing on this shit-hole worth staying for.”

Rey didn’t want to get into it, she didn’t need to justify herself to anyone, much less a stranger. But she couldn’t just walk away, not with the officer towering over her, pinning her stationary with her attentions. “I’m waiting for someone,” she explained.

“Who?” the officer quipped.

“My parents,” Rey responded.

The officer didn’t give her a second to breathe, pushing, “When are they coming back?”

“I don’t know. But they said they’d be back. I can’t leave without them.” Rey pleaded, aiming to convince herself as much as the officer. Her belly churned and her head swam. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and binge on the precious rations; she could almost taste them through the plastifoam packaging.  

Again the condescension gave way to concern, and the officer probed further. “How long have you been waiting?”

Rey held her tongue, then in a voice barely above a whisper, admitted, “... I don’t know.” Rey had tried to keep track, but it had been so long. Ten cycles, maybe more.

A bitter, sorry laugh escaped the officer’s helmet. “Girl, this happens again, you’re dead. Then you’ll never find them.”

Faced with brutal truth, Rey grasped for an excuse. “I don’t want to be a ‘trooper.”

“Don’t need to be a ‘trooper. Order always needs technicians. I can vouch for you, make use of your skills, even if it’s just personally.” The officer’s tone dropped to a low rumble with her final suggestion.

Rey’s coughing fit stifled her response. “Personally?”

The shiny gauntlet stretched toward Rey, ready to steady her if need be. “Don’t play dumb. Out here you must have learned everything’s for sale.”

Rey felt the earth coming to meet her as her knees buckled. The sand never before looked so comforting, a bed worn soft by millennia of erosion. Let it cradle me, engulf me, Rey thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Rey had no idea where she was or what had happened when she opened her eyes. She expected to see the sloping, pock-marked ceiling of the AT-AT belly she called home. Instead she was greeted by a smooth plastisteel slab less than a meter above her face. She raised her head and moved to sit up, but a shock ran through her like a strike of lightning, bringing bright flashes to her eyes, electric sparks zipping down her spine. A starburst pattern ate away at the center of her vision. She took a steadying breath and lowered herself back down to lie on the bunk.

The memory of her conversation with the insistent officer came rushing back. With it came the scenes of suffering that had preceded the encounter. The smell of charred corpses, pungent and fresh. The bargain offered, but not accepted.

“You back with us? You had quite a tumble,” came that clear, polished voice once more.

Rey’s heart began to race, and though she remained lying down, the edges of her sight started to dim, like the dusk closing in. Had they left Jakku? Was she presently hurtling at light speed toward the unknown? Her hands felt frantically by her sides for her staff, her all-important rations. She did not find them. All she felt was the scratchy bantha wool that blanketed her.

“Have we...” Rey croaked. Her mouth was so dry she feared her tongue would crumble to pieces if she spoke long.

“We still have nearly an hour ‘til launch,” the officer answered.

“Where are my?” Her fingers traced over and under the blanket in search of things she knew to be absent.

The officer cut in. “They’re right here.”

Rey turned her head to see the tall woman seated beside her, still helmed, her armor no less spectacular in the murky grey light of the shuttle than it was in bright daylight. She held Rey’s staff in her lap. It seemed a plaything in her mighty gauntlet. Rey imagined she could snap it in half with the squeeze of one hand.

“Rest until we prepare for launch. Then, I won’t hold you prisoner if you want to leave. You can scurry back to that wasteland and wait in vain for a day that will never come, or you can accept the help offered,” the officer explained.

Rey rolled her head back on the pillow to stare at the slab above. She fancied bolting from the shuttle, but the mere thought of movement exhausted her. The feeling that her fate had been decided when she collapsed on the desert sand sunk into her breast. It held her to the bunk as if a stone had been laid upon her—the weight of capitulation. What good would it do to die waiting? At least if she left, she might be able seek herself instead of waiting to be sought.

“Now, are you recovered enough to have something to eat? Drink some water? You look like you're in desperate need, but I don’t want you choking or spitting up,” the officer inquired.

Rey nodded. At the thought of food, the cramping in her stomach became all the more apparent. If the day was closing in on nightfall, she had long missed the second of the three quarter portions she allowed herself. Rey felt the gauntlet wrap around the back of her head to cradle with surprising tenderness, like she was fragile and not made tough through years of exposure to the elements. She let her head droop into the unexpected touch, let the officer carry the burden of her exhaustion. The officer pressed a canteen to Rey’s lips. Rey drank with greed, full gulps with no breath in between. When the officer eased her back, she panted and strained toward the source of water.

“What’s your name?” The officer allowed Rey to drink the canteen nearly dry, then pulled it back to encourage her answer.

Between wet gasps, she answered, “Rey.”

“Well Rey, I’m Phasma. I'm a captain with the Order.”

Rey’s stomach sloshed as she nodded her acknowledgement. Despite the quantity of water she had just consumed, her tongue was still thick and dry.

Phasma set down the canteen and unwrapped a ration bar. The crinkling noise magnified Rey’s anticipation, and the pooling of saliva smarted her barren mouth. Phasma broke off a corner and held it before Rey’s lips. Rey parted them and sucked on the chewy nugget, mashing it into a coarse paste with her tongue before swallowing. Another bite appeared against her lips and she took it quickly, out of habit, before it could be taken back. Her face grew warm at the realization that she need not savor each piece so extensively. There was likely, for Rey’s rather slim needs, an unlimited amount of food available for her consumption. Still, she couldn’t help but feel ungrateful if she did not pause to appreciate the offering, piece-by-piece.

After the next bite, Phasma stopped. “I’d rather not see the rest of this making a return trip. We’ll give it a few minutes. Wait and see how you handle what you’ve had first.”

Rey’s lids drooped under the pull of her satiety. She let them fall closed, just for a few breaths, in and out in a steady stream. Warmth filled her belly for the first time in weeks. She was utterly boneless, her body suspended on a cloud of comfort.  

It seemed but a moment later that a shrill buzzer sounded. It ripped apart the secure cocoon that had been spun around Rey. A tinny voice came over the intercom, announcing, “Five minutes to launch initiation. Secure all modular equipment and prepare for takeoff.” Her eyes shot open, and above her now stooped Phasma’s hulking figure.

Rey rolled onto her side and brought her knees to her chest. She hugged her arms around them, squeezing so tight she hoped she might disappear before she had to commit to a choice. A heavy hand clapped her shoulder, and Phasma reminded, “If you’re going, now’s your last chance. Once the airlock seals, there’s no opening it until we dock.”

Rey didn’t voiced her decision; she let inaction make her choice clear. She fancied the vibration of the engine might mask her tremors, though it couldn’t hide her well-chewed lip. She tasted blood and thought, let the sands of Jakku finish their slow burial of her home.

“Rey, Rey?” The hand shook her, and Rey opened the eyes she had squeezed shut. Her decision became infinitely more real when saw her sorry reflection in the chromium helmet. A tear of exhaustion tracked its way down her cheek. She cursed the vulnerability she had shown this stranger. Rey believed herself hardened inside and out, sun-cured like leather. She’d mastered survival over a decade of denial, a life of asceticism with no room for feeling or hurt, but just as her body had failed her, so now did her mind.

“I need to leave for a bit. To check on the other volunteers. But it won’t be long until we reach the ship. Then I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Phasma reassured. Her metal fingers squeezed Rey’s shoulder, an action likely intended to comfort, but on Rey’s aching muscle each digit was a poker.

Rey dipped her chin in a gesture of acknowledgement. Phasma’s hand released and Rey slammed shut her eyes at the first opportunity. The rocking and jostling of the shuttle lulled her to a fitful slumber, and she dozed the brief journey away. The giddy lightness induced by the drop out of hyperspace roused her with the same intensity as if someone had been shaking her, but no one was there when she opened her eyes. Though it wasn’t long after the announcements for docking began to blare that Phasma reappeared at the cabin door.

Rey’s staff lay within arm’s reach, and she made to grab for it, but Phasma looped her hands under Rey’s armpits and played the live support instead. Rey tried to straighten on her own, though her joints throbbed with animosity at her stubbornness. After a valiant effort to forego assistance, she allowed Phasma’s support to aid her. As they walked to the door, Rey looked back toward the staff. She couldn’t leave it, it was all she had left of home, that and the scraps on her back.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have it sent along,” Phasma soothed, but she didn’t pause to grab it. She just herded Rey out the door. How could she ever know what that piece of wood had been to Rey? Her only protection in a planet-wide sarlacc pit.

The medbay had been installed near the docks with the intention of treating wounded ‘troopers. It was just a brief lift ride before the two of them walked down a narrow corridor between rows of neat beds, Phasma’s stable arm wrapped tight around Rey’s waist. A little too tight, the ridges on her gauntlet abrading through the loosely woven tunic. At the end of the medbay were small cubicles, shielded from the mass of eyes in the common ward. They maneuvered into the farthest one, and Phasma sat Rey down on the edge of the bed.

Rey glanced at her surroundings, dumbfounded by the number of screens, devices, and cables that encircled her—blinking, ticking, beeping, ready to make record of her every breath. And shiny-clean too, no scratches marred their industrial sterility. Like nothing she had seen on Jakku, where a layer of grime laminated every surface.

Phasma pressed the red button on the bed railing. Moments later, a droid chirped into the cubicle. Rey warily eyed the droid as it unfolded its midsection to reveal a digital screen. Phasma bent down and tapped a code into the interface and the droid bleeped its acknowledgment. Its sensors fixed on Rey, and it extended an infrared wand near her chest. A final beep registered the reading and it zoomed out of the cubicle.

“You see, you’ll be all right now. They'll know just how to treat you.” With another stern squeeze of her frail frame, Phasma turned to leave the room. Rey felt the bud of panic start to bloom. The vast unfamiliarity of her surroundings, the bright overhead lights, even Rey’s skin seemed to belong to a foreign body. Phasma paused and attempted to reassure. “Rest. I’ll stop by when I have the time. But don’t wander. Don’t want you tiring yourself out or getting lost.” Rey watched her exit the cubicle then sealed her clammy palms over her burning eyes.

 

* * *

 

Rey’s stay would have been an exercise in tedium had she not spent much of it unconscious, though a stream of droids did interrupt her slumber. One with at least eight extendable appendages bathed her with uncomfortable efficiency before slipping a pale blue shift over her head. Another squat droid with a pot-bellied chest of supplies checked her heart and lungs and provided fresh bags of intravenous fluids. A tall humanoid droid brought her meals and supplements at regular intervals. None spoke more than a few set commands, but Rey was comfortable with the occupation her own mind provided.

In her sleep, Rey could hear the moans of the dying on Jakku, could smell the putrid vomit, feel the heat of the flame thrower as it incinerated the dead. She awoke shivering, her sweat-soaked shift clinging to her back. Frantic for any relief, Rey slammed her hand on the red button and tried to slow her breathing until a droid appeared. The droid’s electro-babble heightened her anxiety, but she took the pills offered and swallowed them in a single gulp. She could feel their chalky exterior drag against her trachea. Within minutes she entered a dreamless slumber.

Phasma was true to her word and stopped by at least twice. Rey believed she was there more often, as the bedside chair seemed to migrate during her naps, but she did not wake Rey. Rey liked to imagine the presence of someone sentient, someone who truly knew what life and death meant, ensuring her recovery.

As Rey regained her strength, a sense of restlessness began to develop. Phasma had said the Order needed technicians, and Rey was eager to prove her skills were up to their standards. The medbay provided a datapad, which contained an easily mastered version of sabacc and a score of tepid databooks. These diversions did little to ease her anxiousness. Her daydreams kept her better occupied—fantasies of appreciative touches that made her uneasy with their insistence.

On her fifth day in the medbay, the droid that brought her breakfast also relayed a message. She was to be released at 10:00 that very day, but no information regarding where she was to go came with the message. Rey wondered where she would end up. Perhaps there was a dormitory for the technicians. Perhaps she would meet other people like her, people who would understand why she had left Jakku.

It was a foreign luxury to muse on a future beyond that day’s sustenance.

Rey was halfway through her nutri-porridge when the droid re-entered with a stack of clothing—black leggings, tunic, and vest and a sturdy-looking pair of boots. She was astonished by how readily the First Order provided, she who had scrounged for every scrap of the soiled set of clothes that had been stripped from her after her arrival. She slipped off her sickbed shift and donned the guise of her new life. Her skin prickled; she told herself it was just the cool air aboard the ship.

“You look quite a different girl entirely,” Phasma boomed from the corridor.

Rey finished smoothing the tunic over her rather bony hips before she spun to Phasma. She didn’t know what to expect upon her release, but surely a captain had more important duties than escorting a new technician from the medbay.

Phasma was helmed as always. This made it difficult for Rey to gauge when to speak and when to listen, so she kept silent and waited for Phasma to continue. “I thought it best if someone familiar showed you to your quarters.”

Rey rambled, “Really, I don’t even know how I’ll ever possibly be able thank you,” and smoothed her tunic a second time, fiddling with the hem. She thought of her life on Jakku, how she was never beholden to anyone. Gratitude wasn’t something she often needed to express.

Phasma waved the thanks aside with a flick of her silver hand. “No need, no need. I’m sure you’ll repay the Order in no time. Let’s head out.” She turned the demurring gesture into one of guidance with a spiral of her forearm and moved toward the exit herself.

Once out in the broad thoroughfares that crisscrossed the Finalizer like arteries, Phasma slowed to walk by Rey’s side. Rey eyes flicked from looking straight ahead to watching Phasma as often as the unfamiliar terrain would allow. She no longer had the excuse of ill health to smooth the silences. Relief loosened the knot that had been building in her stomach when Phasma provided a topic of conversation. “Now, how are you feeling? And be honest, I want to know whether things are moving too fast. Nothing to be gained by pretending. If you need more time to rest, that's just fine.”

“Well. Comparatively,” Rey stuttered. She was alive after all, and any state was well, comparatively.

“Then you’ll be able to start safety training in a few days. From there, I understand you’ll complete an assessment before they issue your assignment. Admittedly, I’m not well informed about the life of a technician, but I’ll try to dig around for some info when you know where you’ll be placed,” Phasma explained.

“Oh. Thank you,” Rey said. The knot in her gut tightened once more when she realized she was to enter a part of the Order where Phasma would not be present to guide her. She would be forced to learn the ropes on her own, but she’d managed on Jakku. What made this any different?

Phasma indicated a right turn down a significantly narrower hallway. The strode close together, Rey’s shoulder brushing Phasma’s triceps. Sconces lit the way in recessed alcoves, and placards labeled each doorway they passed. They must be getting close, Rey thought.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, and here we are,” Phasma announced.

Rey glanced at the bold letters embossed on the plate beside the door then stammered, “But that’s...”

“Yes, yes it is. The dormitories are completely crammed with all the new volunteers, and I figured if you’re going to be forced to share quarters with someone, it might as well be me. Don’t worry, you’ll have your own room. The space is bigger than I’ve ever had use for,” Phasma reassured. Rey questioned the way Phasma’s justifications seemed to keep tumbling out.

Phasma waved her palm over the little red eye beneath the placard that stared at them both. The door slid open. “After you,” Phasma indicated, slamming her boot on the door track to keep it from shutting.

Rey crossed the threshold and Phasma followed close behind. She commanded, “Lights ninety percent,” and the sudden influx of brightness blinded Rey. She blinked eyes that still felt like they were being slow roasted and tried to inspect her surroundings. Despite her spasming eyes, Rey discerned that the room was utterly orderly, a perfect square with evenly spaced desk and couch. There were few personal effects in the sitting room, in fact it seemed barely lived in, though above the desk hung a tapestry emblazoned with the First Order insignia.

The angular furniture was pristine, free of debris, and foreign to expectations Rey had forged on Jakku. Her heart plummeted when she thought of the snug AT-AT belly she had made into a home, remembering each trinket she’d coveted and the desert plants she’d nurtured. They too had been resilient against the wrath of nature. Now they had likely shriveled to dust in her absence.

Rey heard a click and hiss behind her, and she snapped from her reverie to watch Phasma remove her helmet. The half-smile and narrowed blue eyes made her look rather sheepish. Rey couldn’t stop from huffing a breath as the smile broadened. She was far fairer than Rey anticipated. Her cheeks bunched something cherubic, but her eyes gave more the appearance of an imp. Rey wasn’t precisely sure what she had expected to find beneath the helmet, though a grizzled veteran had seemed more likely than this milk and honey seraph.

Phasma set the helmet in a niche by the entry portal and crossed to the doorway on Rey’s right. “Well, you’re through here. ‘Freshers there, and I’m over here.” She jerked her head back toward the opposing wall. Her hands kept busy, continuing to unbuckle her armor. She stripped each piece, gauntlets and greaves, breastplate and plackart, and set them in a cubby with correspondingly sized compartments. With the armor stowed, she had lost some girth, but her towering height was no less impressive.

“There’s bedding and clothes all stocked, but if you need anything, just leave me a note. I’ll put in the order myself. Got a better chance of getting it filled in a timely fashion that way.” A quick raise of Phasma’s eyebrows added levity to her comment on First Order priorities.

Phasma continued, “You settle in. Make sure you have everything. I’m going to wash up before we head to eat.”

Rey walked toward her door and held her palm forward in the same fashion she had seen Phasma do with he sensor at the entrance. With a whir, the internal locking mechanism released and the door zipped open. When she walked in, the lights turned on automatically, revealing a snug bunk bed raised above a chair and desk. A series of cupboards lined the wall. She peered inside one to find several pairs of leggings identical to those she wore. She continued an abbreviated rounds, feeling like a thief as she checked each receptacle. Her mind devolved into a static hum at the thought of the plenty that had been gathered just for her.

Rey turned around after closing the final cupboard, and then she noticed it. Her staff. It was lying just behind the foot locker. She picked it up and ran her hands along the tapered holds, worn with use to fit her palm span perfectly. Her fingers walked along the shaft, recognizing each gash, each light scratch just by feel. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the warm desert breeze on her face. When she opened them, the cool air of the ship dried the moisture that had gathered.

Rey pulled the footlocker out a few centimeters and slipped the staff upright against the wall. Swift pressure applied with her boot shifted the locker back, pinning the staff in place. She resisted the temptation to dwell on things lost and instead moved away to return to the sitting room. She had no concept of how long Phasma’s grooming process took, but she didn’t want to keep her waiting.

Phasma was already finished, her hair darkened by moisture. She wore a simple grey tank top and leggings, and the cut of the top put her broad shoulders on display for the first time. Without the armor, her back was architectural, a masterpiece of musculature and tendon. Rey felt minuscule. Her step slowed. She crept nearer and heard her own distant voice ask, “Where do we head now?”

Phasma explained, “We’ll hit the highlights aboard ship and get you set with your ID. But first, do you need to rest? You’ve been on your feet quite a while.”

At the mention of rest, Rey started to wilt. The upholstery on the couch called out in invitation. She plopped down and let her body sink into the cushions, her head lolling to the side. She wasn’t sleepy, just worn bone deep. Phasma reclined next to Rey and occupied herself with an endless stream of text on her datapad.

After a brief period of recuperation, Rey shifted to glance over Phasma’s arm, her cheek barely touching Phasma’s warm skin. Phasma stiffened slightly and set down the datapad. Her angular jaw worked as she clenched her teeth. Rey nibbled on the inside of her cheek, cursing herself for the way she was drawn to the comfort Phasma provided. She ran her palms over the twill upholstery, letting the burn of the friction dull her nerves.

Phasma pursed her lips in a quizzical fashion and pushed an errant lock of hair behind Rey’s ear. Her touch was light as air, a gust of wind whispering against her cheek. “You’re very pretty, you know,” Phasma said, low and alluring. Rey couldn’t meet her eyes, the blue so earnest it stripped her bare.

Phasma didn’t remove her hand, instead she let it slither across the sensitive skin where neck and shoulder join, tracing an invisible necklace low on Rey’s throat. One forefinger burrowed under the collar of Rey’s shirt, and Phasma curved the tip to drag her nail along hidden skin. She left a scorched path in her wake. Heat bubbled up from Rey’s chest, to neck, to cheek, until the whole of her upper body was flaming.

Rey lifted her eyes to see Phasma’s imploring look. “Let me help you relax,” Phasma offered, skimming her hand across the rise of Rey’s breasts, her thumb drawing circles around the peaks of Rey’s nipples. Rey felt them stiffen in response. Phasma didn’t let her touch linger, instead her hand continued its descent until it reached the apex of Rey’s thighs. Phasma baited Rey with a few firm rubs, then lightened her press. Rey rolled her hips forward, seeking contact, but Phasma pulled back, forcing Rey to lift her hips up off the couch.

Phasma took the opportunity to slide Rey’s leggings and underpants down her thighs, baring her mound to the air. Rey felt herself on display, to have her sex exposed when every other expanse of skin from neck to toes was covered. Phasma palms slid between Rey’s thighs and wrenched her legs apart, and Rey let her legs be manipulated like a doll’s. She was rewarded with Phasma’s comment. “Good. Just like that. Nice and wide for me. No need to be shy, not with me.”

Phasma delved into her wetness, in and out, crooking her finger tips. She brought those slick fingers up to slide against Rey’s clit in a syncopated rhythm. Rey burrowed her head against Phasma’s armpit and screwed her eyes shut. She could feel herself dripping, leaving a mess between her thighs.

Phasma suddenly removed her touch and directed, “Up and over.” She squeezed her hands around Rey’s slender waist for guidance. Rey whimpered at the brief loss of contact but let herself be shifted to mount Phasma’s strong thigh. Situated this way, she felt a debauched thrill, her actions arranged for Phasma’s entertainment. Rey’s own knee pressed close to the heat radiating from between Phasma’s legs.

Phasma started to rock her leg and cooed, “That’s it. Keep going. Grind on me sweet girl.” Rey looked toward the couch cushions, but Phasma interjected, “No, no don’t turn away. Look at me. Let me see your face. Let me see the need on it.” Phasma kept her fingers tight on Rey’s hips, pushing and pulling Rey's lips against the soft knit of of her leggings. Rey pitched forward and steadied her hands on Phasma’s shoulder, trapping her clit against her thigh. With steady pulses of her hips, Rey felt her climax build.

“Mmm, you’re lovely. Even more lovely with that pink flush,” Phasma said and drew her lips against Rey’s shirt, mouthing her pebbled nipples. Rey felt dizzy with not-quite-shame at Phasma’s obvious enjoyment of her body. It came quicker than Rey anticipated, quicker than it usually did. She quivered on the edge then plunged forward, collapsing to ride out the aftershocks of her climax, her heaving chest pressed against Phasma’s soft breasts. Phasma pulled the bindings from Rey’s hair and ran her fingers through it, sending prickles of pleasure coursing down Rey’s scalp and neck.

Rey lay limp for a moment before her self-consciousness returned full force. She yanked up her leggings and slid off Phasma’s lap and onto the floor. Phasma cupped her cheek, guiding it to rest against the patch she had soaked through the fabric of her leggings. “Made quite a mess didn’t you,” Phasma teased. Rey scrunched her nose, but between her legs she pulsed once more. “You like that? Like letting go for me?” Rey felt filthy as she nodded, rubbing her cheek against Phasma’s soiled leg. As the afterglow of her orgasm faded, the exhaustion returned, and she lowered her eyelids.

“You look positively beat.” Phasma let her hand rest on Rey’s forehead, as if assessing her vitals, and continued, “The tour can wait. Let me get you a drink and a bite, and you rest easy.”

 

* * *

 

“Well Rey, seems Captain Phasma was true to her word when she said we had a talented new technician joining the Order.” Rey tried to keep her face schooled, but she swelled with pride as the adjudicator complimented her aptitude. “You’ll be starting at Technician Rank VI, Upsilon division.”

“What does that mean?” Rey asked. She didn’t know whether there were six or sixty ranks.

“You’ll be working on the team that maintains our fleet of Upsilon-class shuttles. These shuttles transport our officers, so we need absolute assurance of no malfunction. It’s a rather complex job for a technician your age.” The curt adjudicator emphasized the end of her statement, as if Rey had done her some personal ill by being skilled beyond her years.  

Self-doubt tempered Rey’s initial excitement. Repairing salvage for Unker Plutt was one thing. If an item failed after he sold it on, as some of his abysmal wares inevitably did, all Rey faced was his personal wrath. This wrath was usually communicated via ever increasing stinginess and an even greater degree of animosity. Rey had never been in his good graces, so she couldn’t lose much. All her repair work earned her perhaps one extra portion a week. But Unker Plutt needed her salvage just like she needed his miserly payments. Here though, the lives of officers like Phasma were at stake. If one of those lives were lost to a malfunction and Rey were responsible for it, she imagined her own life would not be long.

The adjudicator handed Rey off to the orientation guide, who guided her through a whirlwind of checklists and checkpoints. Rey stocked her toolbelt, received her maintenance pad, and made her way to the bay that housed a dozen hangars. Most were filled with gleaming shuttles being tuned to perfect, but toward the back were damaged crafts that were nearing the ends of their lifespans.

Rey was relieved that her first work would be on one of the old shuttles relegated to the very back, intended for salvage, though it did seem a shame to strip such a mighty beast. The shuttle’s cockpit was blasted apart, just a cracked husk. Much of the hull was likely floating somewhere in the Outer Rim, but the hyperdrive module still had the potential to power another ship. Rey could prove her skill by retrieving and repairing it.

The isolated hangar was a graveyard, filled with the shuttle’s carcass, screws and bolts littering the floor like so many bones. Rey had seen other technicians on her walk down the bay, but they must have graduated on to more critical work. Rey didn’t mind the silence; it was her closest companion. She did not court distraction on an occasion so pivotal to her nascent reputation.

A chill lingered everywhere in the ship, but especially here in the recesses of the hangar. She remembered sun warmed buttes as the coolness of the ferrocrete seeped deeper into her body. Rey was thankful for the extra layer of warmth her grey coveralls provided. Her hands had stiffened, and she donned her gloves as much for insulation as for protection before commencing her work.

Rey lost herself in a maze of wires, following each like a tributary to the heart of the drive. She teased the arteries apart in little time. Her pace was still set by the conditions required to reclaim her booty amidst fear of discovery or ambush, so common on Jakku. Once she had extracted the core, she set about running sets of tests, eliminating sources of corruption. She held her breath, waiting with trepidation for the beep of her pad as it tracked each branch of the drive. “Come on, come on,” Rey mouthed, as she watched the series of black circles turn green. She let out a huff of frustration when the second to last flashed red and set to rewiring another branch.

The precision required didn’t leave room for other thoughts, and unlike on Jakku, there was no hunger gnawing at her belly, interrupting her concentration. She told herself she could take her time, though she did not stop for a break even once. She became ensnared by the meditative complexity of her puzzle, exploring each route to its terminal point. Her sole goal was to prove herself a superlative technician. She reveled in a rarely tasted pleasure, the ability to concern herself with the quality of her work instead of the quantity produced for trade.

The pliers fell from Rey’s deft hand when the shift bell disrupted her quiet concentration. She tried to fish them out of the cranny where they had lodged, but a woman with curly dark hair was approaching. Rey didn’t want to quit; her progress was tantalizingly close to a final breakthrough. The woman raised her hand and waved Rey to follow her back toward the entrance. Rey nudged the pliers free and hooked them onto her belt, leaving the hyperdrive for tomorrow.

The woman had already turned around and was walking toward the far end of the bay, so Rey had to jog to catch up with her. Rey chirped a brief apology and the woman nodded, stating, “I’m Kerilia. Beta shift leader for Upsilon division. I’ll show you the supply room before we clock off.”

Kerilia cut a path to the entrance, weaving around dollies piled high with machining equipment. Just shy of the door, she made a left. She held her palm to what appeared a standard panel in the wall, and the panel split open to reveal a room crammed with lockers and cupboards. “You’re the farthest on that aisle,” Kerilia explained, pointing to the second row of lockers.

Rey watched Kerilia open her locker at the other end of the row by pressing her thumb to the nob briefly. When she tried the same, Rey was surprised to hear the clack of the lock releasing. The sleek durasteel face swung open. She wondered when they had captured the personal information used to open these locks. It had to have been when she was in the sickbay. She tried not to consider what else they might have recorded there.

“Rey right? So, you’re the one Captain Phasma found on Jakku,” Kerilia said, unbuckling her tool belt. Rey could see a hologram of a man with tawny skin and warm brown eyes displayed on the inside of her locker door.

“Yeah. From what I’ve heard, a whole crowd of us came on board. Don’t know if any others are working as technicians though,” Rey replied. She felt it best to avoid volunteering further information about Phasma.

“Which dorm you in? I’m in D-2. D blocks’s got a good group for sabacc, if you’re nearby. My Jadeen keeps things fair.” Kerilia mimed a dealer’s hand then hooked her thumb toward the holo.

Rey followed Kerilia’s lead and started shucking off her gear. Her locker held a rack of tools that duplicated those in her belt. She plucked them out of her belt and laid each to rest with its twin before hanging the belt on its hook.  

“I’m not... I’m not really in a dorm. Right now at least. They were too crowded. Couldn’t fit me in,” Rey admitted.

A sly smile appeared on Kerilia’s face. “You shacking up with Captain Phasma?”

Rey didn’t see the need to outright lie, answering, “Yes, but...”

“So you’re one of those. Some officers keep them, but I never really pegged Phasma as the type.” Kerilia’s right brow arched. There didn’t appear to be malevolence in her voice so much as a conversational curiosity.

“One of those what?” Rey asked.

Kerilia explained, “Bedwarmers. Usually it’s girls or boys from the pleasure houses, ones who want to get away from whatever Hutt’s pimping them out. Can’t blame ‘em. Stars know I’d do the same if I found myself in their sorry spot.” She shrugged, and her frankness led Rey to believe she was hearing an honest opinion.

Kerilia continued, “Us technicians, we gotta get our fill on shore leave, unless we find somebody in the Order to sneak around with aboard ship. No double bunking allowed, though they turn a blind eye to most else.” She paused to glance at the holo behind her. “But for officers, for them, they make exceptions. They’re the ones making the rules after all.”

Rey noted Kerilia sounded more envious than judgemental, but she couldn’t help feeling dazed.  She’d seen girls on Jakku, slave girls who lolled in the shade during high noon. Rey knew they earned their keep after dark, but she wasn’t like those girls. Her mind pinged through all her interactions with Phasma, unraveling Phasma’s contradictory actions. Phasma has teased that if the Order didn’t have a place for Rey, she could make use of her, personally. But Rey was earning her keep. She was a skilled technician. She wasn’t like those girls.

“Strange for one to be working as a technician though.” Kerilia looked at Rey with a side-eyed glance.

“It’s not like that. The dorms were full. I have my own room. She’s just looking out for me. I almost died, you know.” Rey’s rapidfire explanation rushed out in a single breath. The memory of their recent tryst burned on Rey’s cheeks. But Phasma hadn’t expected anything, hadn’t requested anything in return. At least not yet.

Kerilia just flicked her hands in a nonchalant expression and replied, “Whatever you say. Well, I’m heading to the mess hall. Want to tag along?”

“I’ll catch you there. Phasma said she’d meet me after shift, that she was going to show me some of the training facilities before mealtime,” Rey explained.

Kerilia let out a brazen chuckle. “Oh Rey, Phasma doesn’t eat with the likes of us. Officer’s mess isn’t even on the same level. See you tomorrow.” With a bob of her curls, she left Rey to her flurry of uncertainty.


	3. Chapter 3

Rey’s encounter with Kerilia provided a stormy ocean of questions. She was dying to ask Phasma, but not in public, especially not in the officer’s mess where dozens of eyes already judged her grey coveralls. During the meal, Phasma had congratulated Rey on her assignment and inquired about her work, but the way Phasma kept scrubbing her hand across her eyes made her worn state obvious. Phasma’s responses were rote and her brows sagged as she nodded along with Rey’s explanations. When they’d gotten back to Phasma’s—or rather their—rooms, Phasma had retired with an apology and a goodnight.

The wait until the next rest period, though it wasn’t long, gave the concerns a chance to fester in Rey’s mind. The doubts grew talons that lodged themselves in the comfortable bubble that had been buoying Rey since her arrival on the Finalizer. Was her position as a technician just an appeasement, designed by Phasma to keep her occupied and give her a false sense of agency?

At the end of Rey’s second shift, Kerilia complained how Jadeen’s rest periods often conflicted with her’s. She explained that they made the most of their handful of nights together, but she was often left alone in her bunk with a holovid and a flask of jet juice. Rey didn’t mention how her schedule serendipitously aligned with Phasma’s, and she again declined Kerilia’s offer to dine, eager to avoid an extended inquisition. Instead, Rey went straight to their living quarters. She didn’t want to linger conspicuously for Phasma and risk looking like a lost pet waiting for its master’s return.

Rey was sitting cross-legged on the floor when she heard boots thump down the hallway. She straightened her spine as the door latch released and looked up from the repair guidelines she was studying. Phasma stood in the open doorway. She pressed the release for her helmet and gave a smile in lieu of salutation to Rey before beginning the laborious process of stowing her armor. Her posture relaxed as she unburdened herself of each piece. Her shoulders went from square to rounded, her spine from rigid to curved, transforming from a stern machine to human being.

Rey followed with her eyes as Phasma walked toward the refresher. “I’ll just be a second. Then I want to hear all about that hyperdrive,” Phasma called. Her stop was indeed brief, and she returned to the sitting room with face scrubbed pink and hair slicked back. Rey could smell the slightly herbal scent of her soap. Phasma flopped down on the upholstery, above where Rey was sitting. She released a stream of deep exhales and splayed her legs wide. One arm stretched across the back of the couch, while the other motioned for Rey to come near. “Now, how was your shift? Did you defeat the drive, or will the battle continue tomorrow?” Phasma asked in a tone too polite for her relaxed posture.

Rey marked her spot in the repair guidelines and flicked off her datapad. She scooted the few feet to curl up between Phasma’s legs rather than rise to sit beside her on the couch. After years of making a home under whatever shelter she could find, the floor was as natural a resting place as the couch. Her gaze remained at kneecap level as she detailed her shift. “I did it. I fixed the core. And with a little time to spare even. Kerilia said they give the same sort of challenge to all new technicians when they join Upsilon division, to see if they’re up to snuff and all that, before they let them work on the fleet. Some fail and get sent back to work on TIE fighters, but she said I was one of the quickest to make the fix.” Rey left out Kerilia’s follow-up, _But you know, that doesn’t mean you get special treatment._

“Well done. And in just two days. Seems like you’ll be running the place in no time,” Phasma said, levity in her voice. Rey didn’t look up to see whether Phasma’s expression was patronizing or truly pleased; she was busy studying the herringbone pattern of the upholstery. Phasma’s hand extended toward Rey, hesitant, hovering at the halfway point.

Rey pressed her cheek to Phasma’s thigh, solid and warm through the thin fiber of her leggings. Nuzzling into the flesh gave her an occupation, an excuse to keep from making eye contact. Phasma took the invitation to strand her fingers through Rey’s hair, and Rey reveled in the scratch of blunt fingernails against her scalp, letting her eyelids fall shut. She was a moment away from purring like a loth-cat.

Rey rubbed her palm along Phasma’s strong calf and down to her stocking foot. She traced the tendons in Phasma’s ankle, and all the while, Kerilia’s words echoed in her mind. Was she to be a bedwarmer? If so, it didn’t make sense for Phasma to keep up this façade of providing Rey with a respectable occupation. Did she belong to The First Order or to Phasma? Rey always imagined positions of servitude as more onerous, but here Phasma was, attending to Rey once more, demanding nothing in return.

Though Rey still held a little lingering resentment about the circumstances of her departure from Jakku, she was surprised at the ease with which she acclimated to the secure embrace of her new life. But the amelioration of past concerns made room for new doubts to grow in their place. Did she owe Phasma compensation for her efforts? Surely she must be expecting Rey to provide more than just an overview of her shift at the end of the day. Rey did not remember a time when she had felt this safe and comfortable; there had to be a catch.

“I like you like this,” Phasma said, her knuckles grazing against Rey’s cheekbone. Her skin was calloused and scabbed with the evidence of sparring. Rey felt a flame lick low in her belly at the implication. _Like this_ could mean a lot of things, but Rey couldn’t think of one she didn’t like as well.

“I like it too. Feels safe,” Rey admitted.

At that encouragement, Phasma cupped Rey’s cheek. It more than fit in her broad palm. “You snug down there?”

“Mhmm. Got you to keep me that way,” Rey murmured. She wrapped her arms around Phasma’s legs, embedding her frame against Phasma’s shins. A grounding mantle wrapped around Rey as she listened to Phasma’s pulse thump quick and steady. Like an infant, she let it lull her.

Phasma’s question was just a breath above a whisper. “Have you ever been with someone?” Her fingers wove through Rey’s hair, winding their way below the base of her topknot. They grew increasingly tight. Perhaps it was an unintentional tic; perhaps it was a move to reel Rey back to reality.

It took a minute for Rey to comprehend the words. It took another deep breath for her to crawl out of that warm hole she’d receded into. Her lungs filled with fresh air, Rey explained, “A few times. For a while some of us scavengers used to run together, had a scheme to look out for each other. Before one of them burned us and made off with a whole week’s worth of work. It was never serious, but people would pair off, spend the nights keeping warm.”

“Male? Female?” Phamsa sped through the second word, like if it didn’t come out right then it would get stuck and she’d try to stuff it back in.

“Male. It was mainly males who scavenged, though for a few months a Twi’lek girl joined us. She was real shy, new to Jakku. Didn’t end up staying long. I expect she found a smuggler willing to take her on,” Rey said. She didn’t judge her then, and she certainly couldn’t now. If she hadn’t been waiting for her parents, she would have left as soon as she learned how to make a bargain.

Phasma tugged on Rey’s hair, forcing her to lift her chin. Rey felt as though a shard of ice had settled in her breast and was slowly melting, dripping to form a pool of frigid water in her stomach. She swallowed and the ice shifted, flowing up to the back of her throat. She met Phasma’s gaze, but Phasma didn’t make a sound. She just watched Rey’s reaction with her hot blue eyes. Phasma’s lips parted, just a hair’s breadth, and a mottled flush spread, marring her alabaster skin.

Rey acknowledged the want etched on Phasma’s face by lifting her chin higher. Her neck stretched, exposing the vulnerable skin in a smooth sweep. Phasma hooked her thumb under Rey’s chin, stroking back and forth, a hypnotic rhythm altogether unnecessary. Her prey was already entranced. She slipped the digit up to tug at Rey’s lips, then worked her way into Rey’s slack mouth.

Phasma strained to quiet her voice, adding a husky edge to her statement. “As much as I adore you on your knees, we should take this someplace where I can feel all of you, not just your sweet mouth.” Her thumb caught Rey’s tongue and pressed it down. Rey shivered at the implication that her opinion would not be needed.  

Phasma withdrew her thumb and wiped the saliva on her leggings. It left a wet smear that made Rey bite her lip at the memory of the mess she made on that other pair. Phasma shifted to stand, unfolding her long limbs until she towered over Rey. She didn’t leave Rey to bow at her feet though. Instead she thrust forth her hand to grip Rey’s bicep, encouraging her to rise. When Rey stood fully before her, she withdrew her hand and waited. Rey had to take the first step herself, before Phasma would walk beside her.

Rey had not yet seen where Phasma’s slept, having had no reason to intrude on her limited personal space. Her bedchamber was bigger than Rey’s, which Rey suspected had formerly functioned as an office based on its number of superfluous nooks and narrow depth. But Phasma seemed content to leave her desk in the sitting room in place of a coffee table, and it appeared little in use anyway. Rey thought of her solitary life on Jakku and how she had often longed for companionship. It was little wonder Phasma had been willing to relinquish part of her personal space to Rey if it meant someone to return to at the end of her shift.

Rey sat on the foot of the bed, and Phasma tugged at the hem of her tunic. “Let’s get this off. I want to see that pretty little body you’ve been hiding underneath.”

Rey raised her arms and Phasma swiftly pulled the garment over her head. The rest of her clothing followed in short time, her disrobing a coordinated effort between Phasma and Rey. The air prickled her bare skin, drawing her nipples into tight peaks.

Phasma stayed clothed completely, though she crawled onto the bed beside Rey and stretched out her legs. She gathered Rey against her chest and nosed into Rey’s temple. Her moist breath teased the fine hairs on Rey’s cheek. “Just like a doll aren’t you. Every part made tiny and perfect.”

Phasma’s hands skimmed the still-sunken expanse of her belly and weighed her pert breasts. Even when trying to gentle Rey, the rough skin on her hands abraded. Rey snaked one leg between Phasma’s and rolled her hips against Phasma’s thigh. With their limbs intertwined, Rey appeared warm sunlight against Phasma’s midnight clothing.

Phasma needed little encouragement. Her hands became less restrained and she tugged on Rey’s nipples, drawing them out taught and worrying the delicate skin. Rey arched into the touch and pulsed between her legs, holding her breath as the pain became sharper. Phasma released the abused nubs and huffed a laugh when Rey whined and panted. “Looks like you can take a rougher touch no problem. It’ll be fun to see how far we can push it,” Phasma threatened.

Phasma’s mouth latched onto Rey’s collarbone. Her tongue slithered across Rey’s skin before she sunk her teeth in, flooding Rey’s nervous system with equal parts pleasure and pain. Phasma soothed her tongue over the bite mark, and Rey’s sharp intake of breath was exhaled into a moan.

“Lie back for me,” Phasma directed.

Rey rolled onto her back and Phasma shifted down the bed to place herself near the foot. A tap on Rey’s inner thigh preceded her command. “Spread these, nice and wide. Let me see every inch.”

Rey flattened her knees against the mattress in a position that thrust her pelvis forward.

“That’s right,” Phasma said, rewarding Rey’s action with a light caress to the crease of her thigh.

Rey felt one of Phasma’s long fingers dip into her cunt. “Nice and wet aren’t you? You really must like it when I leave your tits all red and raw.”

Phasma’s words brought with them another flood of wetness, and Rey felt a flash of self consciousness at the squelching noise Phasma’s fingers made as they slid against her walls. It faded quickly, replaced by another rush of arousal as Phasma murmured, “Wonder if I can get you dripping down your thighs?”

Phasma spread the wetness over Rey’s lips, ghosting her fingertip across the bulb of her clit. Rey hips jerked at the sensation. The direct stimulation was too much. Rey whined when Phasma touched it again, trapping it under her thumb. Her eyes lit up at the way Rey squirmed. When Rey tried to lighten the pressure by tilting her hips, Phasma clamped a hand down on her thigh. “And where do you think you’re going? Hmm?”

“No... nowhere,” Rey sputtered. “Just a reflex.” The way Phasma denied her movement made Rey melt.

Phasma smiled down at her, each sharp tooth gleaming. “Seems you fancy being held down, no chance of squirming away.” Phasma pressed Rey into the mattress, threatening, “Don’t move a millimeter.” She lowered her head and sealed her lips around Rey’s clit, sucking hard. Her insistent tongue lapped and every muscle in Rey’s body tensed. All Rey had ever experienced were the inexpert caresses of foul men. She didn’t know another person could make her feel the things that she had only ever experienced at her own hand.

Phasma alternated the slide of her nimble fingers along the shaft of Rey’s clit with the firm massage of her wet tongue. Rey was already keyed up, but the view of Phasma’s ashen hair between her thighs, the flick of her hard eyes to meet Rey’s, they fanned her arousal to a raging fire.

Rey noted the points of pressure where each fingertip on Phasma’s left hand dug into her thigh. The thought of Phasma’s power and her intentional helplessness brought her quickly to climax. Phasma must have heard the choking pant, felt the pulse of her release, but she kept up her pressure until Rey tried to wrench herself away. Then, she withdrew her mouth and lay her smirking face against Rey’s thigh.

Phasma’s hand continued to draw light circles from Rey’s opening to her mons, making her shudder. “I think we ought to clean this up sometime soon,” Phasma suggested. “Bare up here too, all this exposed.” Phasma raked her fingers through the short curls at the base of Rey’s abdomen. “You wanna be nice and smooth for me? Make it easier for me to see this pretty pinkness.” Rey could feel her lips curve against her thigh.

The thought of being so naked, bare even beyond her present state, made Rey shrink behind the cover of satiety. Phasma squeezed her lips tight between her forefinger and thumb, and Rey let out an ungainly squeal. “Would you like that Rey?”

A gulping whine was all Rey could muster in response.

Phasma halted her torment and crawled up the bed to cradle Rey’s head against her chest. She kissed Rey’s brow with gentleness that seemed comical, in stark contrast to her previous act.

Rey snuck her hand down to press at the front of Phasma’s leggings. She begged, “Let me, please. I want to make you feel good too,” but the angry grumble of Rey’s stomach was not a convincing reinforcement for her argument.

Phasma declined, “Later, later you can tend to that. I certainly won’t die if I don’t get off. More important to fill that empty belly of yours.”

Rey nodded. Her stomach was sour with hunger; Rey hadn’t been keeping track, but mealtime had likely long passed. Foregoing food when her stomach was empty was not an activity Rey would eagerly engage in after her recent stint of privation.

 

* * *

 

After Rey filled her stomach, the bitter taste of dread remained in her mouth. It was like a pill that she needed to swallow, and the longer she let it marinate, the more foul it grew, and so with it grew the difficulty of the task. She cursed herself for getting so caught up in Phasma’s attentions. She’d waited all day, had planned for a private discussion. She might as well have met Phasma at the officer’s mess for all the good her plans did. This time, she would swallow it down in one big gulp, would broach the topic as soon as they reached the privacy of their rooms.  

The walk back from the mess hall gave Rey time to consider her approach, though she had examined it from every angle and still couldn’t think of a way to ease into the topic. It would have to be a painful plunge, headfirst into the confrontation.

Rey eyed Phasma’s brisk boots walking beside her own shoes and quickened her stride to keep up.  Each tile she covered brought her reluctantly closer. Like a condemned person, she willed the route to stretch endlessly, to stall the inevitable. All too abruptly, they arrived at the door that bore Phasma’s name. Rey doubted hers would ever be inscribed on the shiny plaque.

Once through the door, Phasma stretched her arms and threw her head back, opening her mouth in a wide yawn. The vertebrae in her neck crunched like plastisteel packaging crushed in a trash compactor as she rolled her head side-to-side. Rey knew she must act fast or she risked another _goodnight_ with no room for conversation. She too was growing languid, and it was tempting to let it overtake her, but Rey would not concede to cowardice and take the easy way out.

Phasma collected herself and yanked off her boots. She appeared on the verge of wishing her companion a good sleep when Rey blurted, “Can I ask you something?”

As soon as the statement had left Rey’s mouth, a vise settled on either side of her throat. It squeezed, and the bright white walls of their quarters adopted a greyish tinge. The sharp right angles of the doorway rippled. The fear of what she was about to unleash nearly consumed Rey whole, but if she didn’t get it out, doubt would gnaw at her, taking her apart bite-by-bite.

Rey, who had just been plucked from the jaws of starvation, now risked being abandoned to languish once more. It could be a mistake from which she would never be able to recover, to let her pride steal the only comfort she had known in years. Hadn’t she learned her lesson on Jakku?

Phasma herself seemed like a mirage, shimmering silently before Rey, her luminescent skin just a figment of Rey’s imagination. Phasma’s corporeal nature became apparent once more as she began to speak. “Of course. You don’t need permission to ask a question. Really, I know it’s been a tremendous shock. All the business of the Order must seem like endless bureaucracy. It’ll take time to adjust, but remember, you aren’t intruding. I invited you in.”

Encouraged by Phasma’s words of faith, Rey plowed forward, though her speech was full of awkward pauses and beleaguered by a mild stutter. “Is it true? About other officers. You know what they say. What some people are saying. How they... they keep people.”

Phasma’s lips pursed and her face clouded as she tried to unravel Rey’s statement. “Is what true? Keep people how? What do you mean?”

“That other officers keep people as... bedwarmers.” Rey wanted to suck the words back in when she saw Phasma’s reaction.

Phasma looked as though she had just received a painful blow, her face contorting, brows drawing up and inward. She put her fist to her forehead and dragged her knuckles across it, leaving faint pink tracks of pressure on her pale skin.

Rey realized she had swung far lower than she’d intended. She wished dearly that she could scrub the notion from both of their minds.

Phasma’s high nostrils flared when she asked, “Where did you hear that?”

Rey considered she might get Kerilia in trouble, but she didn’t particularly care for Kerilia, and more trouble would result from lying to Phasma. Rey had contact with only a handful of people since boarding the Finalizer. Phasma would likely tease out the answer anyway. “At work ... from Kerilia,” she admitted.

“Oh. I see.” Phasma’s evasion was curt, her lips pressed tight into narrow ribbons.

Rey couldn’t drop the topic, not when she had already incited this mood, far sterner than any she had yet witnessed from Phasma. She might as well dig her grave a little deeper. “Am I? When we met, back on Jakku, you said that if the Order didn’t have room for me, you could make use of me. Personally. I told her it wasn’t like that. But ...”

Immediately, Phasma’s reaction made Rey curse her lack of finesse. Surely she could have eased into the topic without bringing up her own position, but tact had been of little use to her survival on Jakku. Directness was always her first instinct, and it was one thing to rehearse the exchange in her head, and quite another to respond on the fly.

Phasma stared straight forward, six inches above Rey’s head, and took a deep breath before speaking. The air hissed out of her mouth in a foreboding preamble. Exasperation was the high note in her voice, but below lurked the faint bass of guilt. “I was teasing, Rey, just flirting with a pretty girl. I didn’t know how ill you were until you collapsed. After all, you pretended to be well enough to threaten me with that staff. But when it happened, when I saw your true state, I wanted to help you. You were suffering; there was no way I couldn’t just leave you.”

Phasma interlocked her fingers, wrenching them in a fashion that looked like she might pop one right out of the joint. “We were there to provide aid and to recruit whatever survivors we could. It was my job to ensure your safety, the safety of humanity on Jakku. And yes, you being so lovely made me take a longer look at you than the others, made me want to play the hero. I’m made of flesh, not durasteel, despite what some might say.”

Phasma shifted toward a plea. “I’ve seen hundreds die, many of those by my own hand, but your bare brown eyes spoke of despair, and I couldn’t ignore. If you want to leave, if you want to go live in the dormitory with the other technicians, I’ll arrange it. If you want me to quash the rumors about your origin, about any ties to me at all, I’ll make it happen.” Her voice had risen to a sharp crescendo before it quieted for her coda. “But consider Rey, how fond I’ve grown of you in this short time. I don’t think I’m mistaken in believing these feelings reciprocated.”

It was Rey’s turn to feel the swift kick to her gut. She wanted to flee the conflict she had created. She wanted to erase the image of Phasma’s face, lined with pain, from her memory. Instead she backed up until she hit the couch and took a seat on the arm; her legs were no longer steady enough to sustain her. “I’m sorry,” were the only words she could find. She dropped her head into her hands.

Phasma had grown fond of her, yes, but people grow fond of pets as well as people. Did it matter though, whether Rey accepted help from someone with less-than-pure motivations? She knew nothing came for free, and she had observed much more costly forms of payment exacted on Jakku. Without Phasma’s protection and guidance, who knew what would happen to Rey within the mechanisms of the First Order. She would likely return to long days spent toiling, cold nights spent utterly alone. After experiencing such circumstances on Jakku, Rey’s heart told her to cling to the security she had found. She had waited years for the return of comfort, and it had come. She could not begrudge it just because it was different from the form she had anticipated.

But what if Phasma tired of her? This was not the unconditional affection of a parent for a child. Rey knew she was resourceful, but she had seen so little of the galaxy. If navigating the microcosm aboard the Finalizer was a challenge without a guide, Rey wondered how she would fare on a whole new planet. She couldn’t go back to Jakku, to wither under the junk tyrant. But were there a host of Unker Plutts waiting on every planet to exploit her? The rapid onslaught of worry made Rey’s chest seize with pain. She wouldn’t cry. She didn’t cry. She clenched her jaw so tight it came close to shattering.

“Oh Rey,” Phasma lamented, patting Rey’s slumped head, “go to bed. The sleep will serve you better than continuing this.”

Rey sat still, trying to think of something that would mend the rift she had cleaved with gossip and doubts. Nothing came, so she kept silent and listened to Phasma’s footsteps fall away. It wasn’t until she heard the click of Phasma’s door lock that she peeled her hands from her face. She shuffled to her room without stopping in the refresher, only just managing to shuck off her clothes. As she climbed the ladder to the bunk, she glanced at her old staff, still wedged against the wall.

Rey had been proud of the fighter she was, proud of the skills she’d honed out of necessity. Why should she feel ashamed of her new position? Rey wasn’t a beggar, she was valuable to the First Order. Just because her new means of survival were more comfortable than the last didn’t put her on the same level as a whore. Besides, weren’t whores just trying to survive as well?

This vacillation between pride and shame, confidence and doubt, carried Rey to sleep. It seemed like she had only slept a minute when her eyes snapped open, and she fumbled in the darkness for her chrono. After years of rising with the sun, she was unused to the absence of any natural indicator of time. But she assumed there was still the opportunity to roll over and doze, after all, she didn’t hear the hum of the shower.

Rey was mistaken. Her chrono indicated just ten minutes until the alarm was set to buzz.

Rey counted down the last indulgent moments of comfort beneath her warm coverlet. She dreaded that first thrust into the cool ship air. When the alarm did finally sound, she clambered in the direction of the refresher in a flash, hoping to minimize the time her bare legs were exposed.

Rey stopped halfway there. There were no lights on in the sitting room. She commanded them to seventy percent and blinked away the shadows curtaining her vision. The shelves that held Phasma’s armor were empty, and a note was fixed to the door. Rey jolted to inspect the note. The hurried yet deliberate script it was written in slanted dangerously to the right, so far as to be almost unreadable. Still, Rey made out:

 

> _On mission off ship. Back in a few days._
> 
> _If trouble, contact Mitaka, ex. 45267._
> 
> _-P_

Rey wondered if something sudden had come up and Phasma had been assigned off ship, or if she had volunteered for the mission. Neither explanation changed the fact that Rey was now left to navigate the Finalizer on her own, and she had no idea where the technician’s mess hall was even located. She’d followed Phasma like a lamb since she’d been released from the medbay, the ordeal on Jakku had so sapped her taste for self-sufficiency.

 

* * *

 

Rey walked one corridor then another to dead ends before she found the lift. She took it to the fourth, fifth, and sixth levels and was finally forced to beg the favor of a man attired in tell-tale grey coveralls. She reached the mess hall fifteen minutes before her shift was to start. Entering the hall, she had to wade upstream the flow of bodies making their exit.

The scant time left before alpha shift meant the line at the counter was nonexistent. Rey managed to grab a bowl of something warm and gulped it down, still standing. Though the speed with which she ate made her stomach churn, her lack of time did provide one blessing. It meant she didn’t have to navigate a sea of unknown faces to find a lonely seat among the crowd.

The nutri-porridge was flavorless and effortless to consume. She swallowed it without taking a second to reflect, but after she finished, guilt wrapped Rey in its suffocating embrace. It was wrong that she should take for granted this consistent food supply. She should not grow too comfortable among this plenty. She shoved the bowl into the dish chute, trying to shove with it the feeling before it could overwhelm her.

On the way to the hangar, Rey’s gait was the awkward skip of one in a hurry who was trying not to run. Every third or fourth step, both of her heels left the ground in a brief hop. The porridge jostled, cramping her stomach, but she managed to insert her ID into the reader at the entrance just as the shift buzzer blared.

Today’s assignment was a step above the puzzle she had solved to prove her worth. The comlink module on one of the crafts was shorting out. It wasn’t the highest priority function, but it was still something that could make a difference. Rey set immediately to work scanning the wiring for each channel. Her datapad buzzed when she traced the connection for channel four, which ran back behind the wheelhouse. She crawled under the console and edged her fingernails around the plate enclosing the wiring, trying to pry it off. It didn’t budge. She pulled out her flashlight and noted the tiny hex-head pegs driven through edges.

Rey had only the essentials strung on her tool belt. A trip back to the supply room was warranted. She trudged to her locker and scrounged through her set of wrenches, but it seemed like nearly half the items she’d carefully paired the other day had gone missing. The supply crates stuffed in the corner held promise, and she poked through their contents, finding pliers long and thin, bolt cutters big enough to sever a limb, and at least a dozen types of wrenches, but none were the correct item. She gave up before she wasted her entire shift rifling through receptacles.  

Rey was loath to ask Kerilia for help, but unless she wanted to forego her task for the day, she had to. Kerilia was milling around the hangars closest to the supply room, where Rey assumed the most important repair work was taking place. She looked up at Rey and her face formed a pressed-lip thing more grimace than greeting as Rey approached.

“How can I help you,” Kerilia said. Her voice did not rise at the end of the would-be question. She left no time for Rey to reply, instead she glanced back to her datapad and starting tapping away.

Rey squeezed her toes tight within the confines of her snug boots and blurted out, “Need an L-17. Half my L wrenches, they’ve gone missing.”

Kerilia raised her head. She fingered the shafts of metal hung like munitions in a bandolier across her chest and plucked out a wrench the size of her little finger. When she handed it to Rey, it came with a reprimand. “Hmm, make a note to order a new set, but do try to keep track of your tools. Doesn’t do to be careless, Rey.”  

Rey held her breath the brisk walk back to her shuttle. Rage roiled deep in her straining lungs. Only when safely ensconced within the hull did she let out a rush of air, open mouthed in a silent scream. She slid under the wheelhouse and lay her head against the cool metal as curses and visceral images of bodily harm flowed through her mind. Kerilia was easily smote, speared on the end of her mental staff.

After indulging herself, Rey shoved her feeling to the back of her mind, to revisit later, when she could properly nurture her anger. She couldn’t throw the whole shift, that was what Kerilia likely hoped would happen. The wrench fit neatly around the hexagonal bolts, and Rey pocketed them and removed the housing. The wiring bulged forth, as she eviscerated the shuttle’s entrails. She combed through the tangle of metal to locate the culprit.

By the end of her shift, Rey was able to solder in a new link to the channel. She dialed in a test call and briefly conversed with the technician in the next hangar. It was for the best that he could not see her beam at her own success; gloating would not win her friends. The pleasure she hid upon returning the wrench to Kerilia before the shift buzzer sounded was the same sort of rush she got from a well-placed blow. Perhaps she didn’t need her staff after all, Rey thought.

Rey noted the bulge of Kerilia’s eyes, nearly as prominent as a frog-dog, when she handed over the wrench. The deep brown orbs went unblinking.

Kerilia sniffed, “Off to Captain Phasma?”

Rey made sure to keep a bland exterior, suppressing any signs of disquiet that bubbled beneath her smooth surface. “She’s off on a mission.” Rey shrugged, turned, and left. Kerilia certainly didn’t need any more ammunition for her budding grudge.

The rumble of the ship’s machinations was Rey’s only companion when she returned to their living quarters. It was one thing to be alone at work, in the cozy confines of the shuttle cockpit, driven by the challenge to best Kerilia. The motivation to prove herself an able technician even when faced with petty roadblocks was ample occupation. In their rooms, with nothing beyond her own agitated thoughts, she was more alone than she had felt in a long time. Rey, who had sometimes spent weeks with nothing but a handful of words spoken, felt no nostalgia for solitude of this magnitude.

Hungry for the oblivion of sleep, Rey lay back in her bunk and waited impatiently for it to overtake her. Her sheets were rough with newness and irritated her skin as she tossed about. Back in her AT-AT, everything had been third-hand, worn soft as air, the threads held together with hope. It would take time for her stiff surroundings to mold to her form. It was more likely that she would first need to harden under their press.

It was too soon for sleep; her agitated mind would not let Rey rest. She tried to take an objective approach to the maelstrom of emotion, but it threatened to overtake her. If she didn’t keep shifting, moving, her legs would prickle with urgency. Each new position brought a rush of doubts. Should she return to Jakku? Rey held no fondness for the planet; her phantom feelings were for a long-departed parental embrace. And Phasma was right. She’d be dead if she pitted herself against Unker Plutt’s increasing hostility during another fiasco. The First Order had delivered her from destitution, but how she fit into the hierarchy of the Order, Rey did not know. She’d unwittingly destroyed any opportunity for camaraderie with her own class by associating with officers. If she moved to bunk with the other technicians, not only would she lose Phasma’s protection, she would likely face ostracism from those loyal to Kerilia.

The tenuous nature of her new position was a brutal epiphany. Rey had reaped the benefits as well as the detriments of her own independence for years on Jakku. How had she managed to grow so utterly dependent in just a few short weeks? The regret wound around her, like the silk of a spider, wrapping her tight until her heart thumped against the claustrophobic cocoon.

Rey was certain the only feasible option was to secure her place by Phasma’s side. If she became indispensable, endeared, something akin to the family for whom she had sacrificed so much, Phasma would not casually cast her aside, Rey hoped.

Upon waking, Rey lingered, her unfocused eyes staring past the blank ceiling. She left late, arriving at the mess hall with enough time power through a bowl. She scanned the crowded benches as she chewed. Kerilia’s curly hair was visible in the far corner, and the technician to her left raised his hand when he locked eyes with Rey. She knew his face, had heard his voice yesterday in her test call. She whipped her gaze to another table closer to the entrance; a few friendly nods were aimed in her direction by technicians she had never met. To join with unknown faces when she had already acknowledged the table occupied by her colleagues would be conspicuous folly.

At the end of her shift, Rey stole away with her dinner tray to eat shielded from the judgement of other technicians. Though her work schedule did not leave much time for leisure, in the little time she was at ease, Rey took to exploring the Finalizer. Better to keep moving than lie in bed, marinating in her own worries. She found that her ID provided access to a maze of broad thoroughfares and narrow corridors, and her busy legs kept her mind from idling on Phasma’s return. As she crept down a dimly lit passageway and listened to the rumble and creak of air shafts deep in the ship’s hull, Rey was reminded of the wind howling down barren canyons on Jakku.

The trepidation Rey experienced was relieved only by an encounter with Lieutenant Mitaka. He reassured her that Phasma was unharmed and would return soon, though he could not say with certainty when she would be back. He did reveal that he’d been instructed to check on Rey if Phasma’s absence carried on longer than two days. Rey expressed her gratitude for the information but declined the offer to accompany the shy officer to dinner.

Shame assaulted Rey that night, gladly standing in for anxiety. Rey had assumed Phasma was involved in yet another relief scenario similar to that of Jakku. She had not considered that the mission might be dangerous, that there was a possibility she could be harmed, even killed. The Phasma who resided with Rey was divorced from Captain Phasma, leader of the stormtroopers. Though Rey had admired the striking figure Phasma cut in her armor, she had somehow forgotten the armor’s true purpose.


	4. Chapter 4

When Rey returned from her next post-meal sojourn, the door whizzed open to reveal a scene reminiscent of twilight. The lights were aglow at fifty percent, though she was certain she had turned them off before she left. Like a flame through the dusk, Phasma’s platinum hair shone. Her face was cast in a relief of shadow, the high crest of her nose rising above the dark valley of her cheek. She must have gotten back some time ago, Rey thought, noting the armor neatly stowed.

Rey waited for four deep breaths, unacknowledged. Her feet were stuck at the threshold, and it was like trudging through a mire to approach Phasma. Rey’s instinct was to rush to Phasma’s side and inspect every inch of her skin, first with fingers then with lips. She needed to make certain no harm had come to Phasma, but anxiety had so corroded her nervous system, her brain could not communicate the message to her feet. She held each step in a slow procession, accompanied by the percussion of her heartbeat. Though Phasma must have heard her, she did not look up until Rey was standing before her.  

Only after Phasma turned her head, could Rey see that her left eye socket was dark with the purplish black of stale blood. The bruise trailed into her hairline and down the bridge of her nose in a smear of sallow green. Rey’s heart shot into her mouth. She felt the echo of the brutal blow on her own skin as she gasped, “Your face! Are you alright?” Rey extended her hand towards Phasma’s injury, but stopped just short of touching—afraid to make the hurt worse, afraid to make the hurt real.

Phasma angled her cheek away, saying in a hurried voice, “Looks worse than it is, really. Nothing broken, no permanent damage. Give me a week and I’ll be good as new. Same can’t be said for my poor helmet though. Took the brunt of it and will have to be re-cast.” Upon Phasma’s mention, Rey noticed her helmet was indeed missing from its dedicated shelf. To destroy the helmet utterly, the blow must have been a vicious one indeed.

The words that needed to be said were left unvoiced as Phasma’s perceptive eyes searched Rey’s face. Rey knew she wore her emotions as clear as Phasma’s bruise. Phasma need not query for contrition. The more time passed, the deeper the gulf of silence between them grew. One of them would have to plunge forth and trust the other would reach out a hand. Rey feared that if she opened her mouth, every thought she had gathered during Phasma’s absence would pour out. She kept her lips sealed, found her throat paper-dry; even if she tried to talk, her words would be a hoarse mess.

Time slowed under scrutiny, and Rey felt nearly an eon pass before Phasma let the bold words fall from her lips, though it had likely been only a minute of silence.

“I missed you, you know,” Phasma said, soft and plaintive.

Rey crumbled to her knees and bowed her head like a supplicant. She didn’t know how to express her relief any other way but utter deflation. “I missed you too,” she croaked to Phasma’s feet.

Phasma’s fingers clasped Rey’s neck, drawing her in with a firm but not overtly harsh press. She leaned forward to brush her lips against Rey’s. Her lips were warm and dry as they pursed and nibbled at Rey’s mouth, but it was Rey who teased her tongue against their smooth surface and Phasma who kept them sealed. She wouldn’t let Rey in, not yet. Rey should have know it was not for her to decide how things should progress.

Phasma’s awkward position, doubled over with her chest nearly resting on her thighs, was not one she could maintain indefinitely. Rey could sense the tenseness in her hand, still clamped on Rey’s neck. Rey tried to push her way up onto the couch and into Phasma’s lap, but Phasma left no room for her to stand unless she wanted to wrench herself away. She tugged, testing her leeway, but the hand stayed, so Rey stayed.

It was Phasma who released the pressure when Rey stilled. Rey shifted to rise, but Phasma rebuked her with a tap of her heel against Rey’s thigh, saying, “Not time to get up yet. You know how good you look on your knees. I want you down there a while longer, and I’ve got a way to keep you occupied.” The purpose of Rey’s position became instantly clear when Phasma lifted her hips to shuck off her leggings and underpants. She nudged the pile of fabric clear of Rey’s kneeling form with the tip of her toe, then spread her legs wide and lewd.

Rey admired the dark pink folds as Phasma ran her fingers over the little nub at the top. The skin, and her fingers, glistened with slick in the warm light. Phasma’s hips rolled against her palm in a luxurious rhythm, and a small sigh of pleasure escaped her mouth. She let her head drop back against the couch cushions, her hair splayed like a golden halo behind her. Rey felt quite the voyeur intruding on Phasma’s private bliss, but the feeling was short lived. Phasma hooked her foot around Rey’s hip and reeled her in.

Phasma’s sodden fingers invaded Rey’s mouth. The musky taste wasn’t as pervasive as Rey anticipated, diluted, no doubt, by the copious nature of the fluid. She sucked them clean with fervor, her tongue running along the edge of each fingernail, seeking hidden deposits. Phasma pulled them clear with a wet pop and tangled the hand in Rey’s messy bun. Rey found her face pressed flush against Phasma’s mound, the bristle of hairs tickling her nose. She opened her lips and started to suckle at the scorching flesh, but Phasma instructed her, “Put that tongue to work girl.”

Rey tried to replicate the slow, firm pace Phasma had taken with her, but Phasma seemed eager to hurry the deed. Her thighs squeezed on either side of Rey’s head, forming a bridle that held Rey fast. Rey focused her energy on trying to meet each pulse of Phasma’s hips with a flick of her tongue, though the muscle was fatigued and starting to grow sluggish. She attempted to inhale through her nose, but Phasma buried her face more firmly against her skin with a severe tug of Rey’s hair. Desperate to relieve her burning lungs, Rey tried to force her head to the side to no avail. Only when Rey felt the rapid pulse under her tongue did Phasma let her go.

Phasma’s voice was paved with lust as she grit out, “Any idea how pretty you are? When you struggle, when you’re scared, little jerks and grunts like a frantic animal. Like to tie you down just to watch you try to get away. But you wouldn’t get away. I’d make sure of that. And by the time I let you up, you’d be so limp I could do anything I like.”

Rey panted shallow breaths, feeling herself grow dizzy at the influx of oxygen and at Phasma’s words. The threat of further helplessness made Rey throb all over: her head, her heart, her cunt. She heard Phasma rise, heard her voice trail behind as she walked past Rey. “Take the time you need, then join me in bed.” Tears beaded at the corners of Rey’s eyes from discomfort and joy.

Rey hoisted herself up on unsteady legs. A white-capped wave of vertigo crashed over her and she listed to one side before righting herself. She followed the trail of clothing Phasma had dropped on the way to the bedroom; shirt, bra, and socks promising what she would behold.

Phasma reclined on the bed, a magnificent sight with all her corded muscle bared to Rey for the first time. Rey thought that the crumpled linens on which she lay did not suit her; she belonged on a dais, a goddess bold and potent. She looked at Rey with eyes rapacious for more.

“Take off your clothes so I can feel you,” Phasma instructed.

Rey stripped quickly, frantic to be enveloped in Phasma’s embrace. She felt no shame as she strode to the bed, only anticipation. Her body did not embarrass her, she who had bathed in ravines and rutted under the night sky. Rey climbed upon the white sheets, and Phasma shifted her to lie with her backside against Phasma’s front. Rey tightened as she felt Phasma’s soft breasts press against her shoulders, Phasma’s long leg nudge between her own.

Phasma let her right hand trail across Rey’s firm breasts, cupping and weighing them, her fingers gentle as she kneaded the soft flesh. The hand skirted the plane of her stomach, and when Phasma reached her mound, she murmured filthy words with the utmost sweetness. “Oh very nice. You learn so well. All bare for me. That’s my good girl.”

Rey’s face grew warm at the praise. Phasma’s light touch tickled her bare skin, and she jerked her hips back, pressing into Phasma’s warmth. “How do you like that, just the tip of my finger and you’re already twitching. Worth the work wasn’t it?” Phasma commented and flattened her hand, smothering Rey’s clit under her palm while her forefinger toyed with her wetness. The pressure was bliss, but when Rey started rolling her hips up to force an even firmer press, Phasma removed the hand.

In a sudden shift, Phasma sat upright and scooted against the headboard. Rey raised herself onto her knees but was immediately dragged over Phasma’s lap, her backside to the ceiling. Rey turned her head to look at Phasma’s face, and Phasma smiled a wretched, lascivious smirk.

Phasma’s broad palm tapped against the swell of Rey’s behind as she said, “I’ve thought about this a lot. More that a lot, if I’m being honest. Wondering if I could make your plump little ass as pink as your lips. Are you going to let me find out? It’ll hurt, but I think we both know by now that you like it to.”

Rey realized the tap had been a testing stroke. She nodded. Her stomach quivered.

Phasma gathered Rey’s wrists in her left hand, holding them tight against the small of her back. With her right she brought down the first real stroke. Phasma was not easy in her endeavor, her arm strong, her reach long. Rey’s hips jolted forward at the string, and she reflexively kicked up her left foot. Phasma chuckled and swatted the other cheek. She alternated left and right, high and low, until Rey was rutting against her lap. The sharp shock followed by the deep heat fed right to Rey’s center.

Phasma broke to grasp Rey’s lips tights between a pincer-like forefinger and thumb, giving her not a moment to recover from the onslaught. Rey felt herself gush at the brilliant pain as Phasma twisted and yanked at her lips. She ground her fist into Rey’s throbbing entrance and taunted, “It seems I was right. You’re enjoying this just as much as I am. So wet you’re positively dripping.” One knuckle dipped into her hole, and Rey was seized by the idea of all five knuckles stretching her wide. She wanted to feel the she was Phasma’s inside and out.

Rey gasped when Phasma removed the pressure and returned straight away to her striking; the loud clap preceding the burst of pain startled her. Rey felt her skin deadening as the sensation became less a sting and more a deep throb that echoed in her cunt. After a few more hits, brought down with a punishing force, Phasma halted. “Shame my hand’s starting to hurt. I’d like to see tears in those big brown eyes. Make you hurt so bad it doesn’t leave for a week.”

Rey whined, winding her torso around Phasma’s hip. She thrust against Phasma’s bare leg, the smooth skin on skin providing disappointing purchase. Phasma acquiesced, saying, “Oh you’ve suffered long enough I suppose. You deserve a treat for all that.” A few brief strokes was all it took to bring her release. Rey clenched her fists as the pulses of pleasure radiated outward. Her whole body was a taught wire that had been severed. Rey lay limp, boneless, a panting mess as Phasma smoothed her hair away from her sweaty brow. She didn’t want to ever leave Phasma’s lap.

 

* * *

 

Rey extricated herself from Phasma’s bed with true loathing, and she returned to her own room to dress after a brief shower. A package lay on her desk, wrapped in opalescent paper the color of a cerulean skycatcher. She carefully ran her fingernail along the seam of the paper, keeping it intact as she unwrapped the box. It was a plain, white, lidded receptacle, no characters denoting its contents or origin. She opened the lid, and nestled within translucent tissue was a garment made of pale amethyst shimmersilk. Rey lifted it from its box with care so extreme she might have been handling a butterfly. The fabric unfurled to reveal a knee-length slip. Delicate cream lace trimmed the hem, and the thin straps joined in a daringly low v in the back.

Rey let the soft fabric glide over her forearm. She had never felt material so smooth, that moved with such liquidity. Rey questioned how the creator had captured the essence of a flowing stream, woven into fabric. She had no idea the cost of a garment this fine, but it could not have been inexpensive.

Rey tottered into the sitting room. Both arms were stretched out before her, allowing her to admire the garment. “What’s this?” she asked, her voice hushed with awe.

Phasma explained, “We made a pitstop at a trading outpost on the way back. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought of you in it and decided I’d like to see that for real.”   

“Me? In this? I’m not sure I could do it justice,” Rey doubted. Her hands were rough, her forearms striped with tan, and though she was slim, her figure lacked the exuberant femininity she had observed on pleasure women on Jakku—voluptuous breasts and sleek thighs, perfumed and oh so soft.

Phasma scoffed, “It pains me that you don’t have any pretty things, being so pretty yourself. I could put you in a dress made of moonstones and you’d outshine it.” Her exaggeration was accompanied by an entirely earnest expression.

Rey’s hands drooped, but she made sure the slip did not brush the ground. She’d had few opportunities to be concerned with her appearance; she’d been so focused on simply surviving. That someone would see something this fine and think of her was bewildering. She was sure she’d ruin it the moment she put it on.

“Try it on for me,” Phasma requested.

Rey unwrapped her towel and draped it over the back of the couch. Her nerves fluttered with a feeling nearly as strong as that she had felt during her placement exam. Would she be able to live up to Phasma’s expectations for her? Phasma had obviously constructed an ideal version of Rey in her mind, one who suited this garment, so different from Rey’s perception of herself. Disappointing Phasma was something she couldn’t bear. Rey raised the slip above her head, and once her arms found their way through the straps, it slid into place. The material clung to her in a way that highlighted the peaks of her nipples even more than when she was undressed. Bereft of their color, the little nubs were the only disruption in a meter of flawless silk.

Phasma made a low hum of appreciation and stood to take a closer look. “The color is perfect, suits your hair, your eyes. But really, it’s you who are perfect,” she said, brushing the whisper of a kiss against Rey’s temple. Her hands smoothed the fabric over Rey’s hips, and Rey reveled in the faint sensation of Phasma’s touch through the luxurious barrier. It was strangely intimate to be fondled wrapped in something of Phasma’s deliberate choosing. Rey felt the whole slip act as an extended embrace, caressing down her thighs.  

Phasma grasped Rey’s hand and led her into the refresher. She rifled through the cabinet and found what she was looking for, one of Rey’s hair ties. Then, with surprising aptitude, Phasma combed her fingers through Rey’s hair, sectioning and twisting it to craft an elaborate braid. Rey’s whole body began to tingle as Phasma tugged lightly at the strands she wove. She felt as though an electric current coursed from Phasma’s fingertips and across her scalp.

“There you are. Stunning,” Phasma announced and turned Rey to face the mirror.

In the mirror, Rey saw a woman elegant, almost delicate, worlds away from that rugged girl garbed in pilfered scraps of fabric. Had this person always been lurking inside Rey, or did Phasma craft her out of thin air, Rey wondered.

Phasma guided Rey’s head to the side, to better admire the intricate coiffure she had created. A circle of braids looped across the crown of her head.

“I had no idea. How did you learn?” Rey asked. Phasma’s own hair was quite short, and Rey had never seen her do more than run a brush through it.

“Bunking with a dozen other girls, you have to learn to play the part. It certainly made things easier.” Phasma’s smile seemed forced, like she was treading into uncomfortable territory. “But you never know when it will come in handy. Right?”

Rey nodded, unsure of what she could possibly say to counter Phasma’s allusions. Phasma’s hands rested on her shoulders, and she peeked over the top of Rey’s head, looking at their reflection in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around Rey’s frame, and Rey inhaled the salty sweat that still remained on Phasma’s skin.

Rey tried to suppress a yawn. A glance at the chrono on Phasma’s wrist revealed that nearly two hours had passed since Rey had returned, expecting to head straight to bed. But if she left Phasma now, would she be there in the morning? A spell had been cast over the evening, and Rey worried that she would break it if she parted.

As if reading her mind, Phasma encouraged, “Go on, go to bed Rey. Can’t have your falling asleep on the job tomorrow. And I’ll still be here; I promise.” Rey understood the admission of guilt implied with Phasma’s final statement.

Phasma let her hand rest on the swell of Rey’s ass and gave her a little pat as she turned to leave. Rey flinched and shrunk away out of instinct. Her skin was still slightly tender from the earlier rough treatment, though the reminder of the pain was not unwelcome.

Phasma’s face clouded, her nostrils flaring and lips drawing to a concerned moue. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”

Rey made a huffing noise of protest. “No, no, don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m fine. More than fine. I liked it, really.” Rey grasped Phasma’s hand in an attempt to convey her sincerity. She studied Phasma’s eyes, which in turn studied their intertwined fingers.

“You’re becoming a temptation I don’t know how to resist,” Phasma bemoaned. She squeezed Rey’s hand and shifted her bold eyes to stare into Rey’s, as if she could, by force of will, convey her heart’s sentiment.

Rey released her hand a fraction at a time and, with reluctance, tread back to her room, to sleep alone.

The next morning, Phasma was still present. She kept her promise and had not snuck away while Rey slept, but her behavior represented a marked shift from the previous encounter. She encouraged Rey to breakfast without her, citing a lack of appetite. She’d grab something later, she said, as she’d been given the day off to recover from her mission. Though Phasma still claimed the injury was a minor surface wound and Rey was not to concern herself with it.

Rey had hoped to avoid the awkwardness of her chronic colleague avoidance by dining in the officer’s mess, but she didn’t want to explain the circumstances to Phasma. Instead she left their quarters at a reasonable time, far too early to feign a rush through her meal. She took a circuitous route to delay her arrival, trudging down vacant corridors and climbing stairs intended for use only in the case of an electrical failure. The quiet, dark passages suited her mood, and she thought of remaining there, shirking work. She suspected Phasma could provide immunity from whatever punishment truancy would lend.

But after a sufficiently self-indulgent sulk, Rey pressed on. She was relieved to arrive just late enough to the mess to see the hall emptying. In and out in a few minutes, she filled her stomach as full as her mind.

Once in the hangar, Rey tried to tire herself with speedy handwork in an effort to avoid addressing the whiplash Phasma’s behavior had given her. Her breakneck pace put her half a day ahead by the end of her shift, though no words of praise came from Kerilia when Rey reported her progress. She didn’t expect any, didn’t need any. Aboard the ship, she lacked the drive for survival that had instilled her work ethic on Jakku, but her internal impetus to find peace in action was nearly as strong a motivator.

When Rey returned after her shift, Phasma’s mood had taken yet another sharp turn. Rey was given little more than a moment to remove her coveralls before Phasma escorted her to dinner. She sat on the same side of the table as Rey, which allowed her surreptitious touch to ease along Rey’s thigh. Phasma insisted Rey detail the day’s minutia and listened with rapt attention, all the while petting parts hidden beneath the table top. She complemented Rey’s skill, prophesied her great achievements, and stopped just short of naming her the soon to be lead of Upsilon division.

Phasma’s behavior followed the same tumultuous pattern of extremes over the next week. There were days when Rey didn’t see her and days when she wouldn’t leave Rey’s side. Rey learned how to test the water with banal questions—Phasma’s loquaciousness provided the best barometer of her mood.

Rey was left exhausted by the need to adapt to suit Phasma’s moods. She weathered the downturns as best she could, hoping a long summer would follow this tempestuous season. At the thaw after yet another cold snap, Phasma swung astoundingly high and voiced a proposition that Rey would never have dreamed of requesting.

Phasma asked, “How would you like to come with me on the next planet-side mission? It’s not in any way dangerous, just a facilities check more than anything, but the planet’s beautiful, warm, a nice change of pace from this ship.”

Rey was shocked. After their last separation, she would have been grateful if Phasma had simply notified her of the pending mission, rather than leaving her to grow sick with worry. To accompany Phasma on the mission seemed a privilege Rey didn’t know how she had earned.

“When do we leave?” Rey responded.

 

* * *

 

The thick jungles of Akiva stretched out like an endless emerald carpet beneath the shuttle. Rey could see structures poke their heads above the canopy, a tower here, an exhaust stack there, but the flora was as oppressive as the endless sand on Jakku. The shuttle set down on a small landing strip beside a building complex, and Rey was struck by the shock of color that encroached on the ferrocrete walls—broad green leaves and bright blue flowers shaded the very entrance.

“Akiva was the first planet to declare allegiance to the New Republic. It was quite a coup for the Order when they came begging with their tail between their legs. They were one of the first to see the light after the Hosnian offensive.” Phasma explained. They stared out the viewport together as the pilot wound down the engines. Rey wondered how much of the galaxy Phasma had visited. She felt utterly insignificant realizing that the same stretch of brown earth she’d traversed for years on Jakku was her only point of reference.

At her first step out the shuttle hatch, the humidity assaulted Rey. It was cloying, laying a film on every exposed pore. The breath she took was like a gulp of scalding caf when all she wanted was a sip of water. Phasma ferried her through the entry to the compound and inside the nearest building to await the arrival of the second shuttle. The building was thankfully climate controlled, and Rey fanned her face, drying the sweat that had started to break out on the short walk from the landing strip.

The First Order representatives visiting Akiva were a mixed group of technical personnel and officers. Rey had learned on the flight that the officers were there to accept the order for a new group of TIE fighters, while the technical directors were present to coordinate delivery of the units to the Order’s fleet. Rey knew she couldn’t contribute much with her presence, though perhaps it would be beneficial to make her face known to the technical leadership.

Rey silently shadowed Phasma as the group inspected assembly lines and reviewed configurations. She nodded along with Mitaka’s queries about specifications, and felt proud the topic was well within her realm of expertise. The scale of operations, however, was beyond anything Rey had ever imagined. A sea of droids assembled a single component before passing it on to the next cohort. The whir of drill bits and grinding of gears worked to produce a cohesive orchestra of production.

When they reached the end of the assembly concourse, the technical personnel moved on to inspect the goods in the adjoining warehouse. The officers remained, and it was Mitaka who signed the final approval for the order. He nodded to Phasma as he and the other officers made their way to the exit, and the factory representatives continued to the warehouse.

Phasma loitered, and Rey remained by her side. She realized they were the only humans left among the cacophony of the assembly line.

Rey was startled when Phasma removed her helmet; heretofore, Phasma only removed it in select locations aboard the Finalizer. Rey saw that her face was grave, her eyes lined with sorrow. “How would you like to stay here?” she asked Rey.

Rey’s heart dropped through her diaphragm to sit low in her stomach. Her flushed skin grew ice cold. Her vision narrowed to the single point of Phasma’s face. Phasma couldn’t possibly mean what she was implying.

“With you?” Rey hazarded.

Phasma’s jaw jolted as she clenched her teeth. It looked like she would break a tooth if she wasn’t careful. A loud exhale preceded her next statement. “No, not with me. I can’t leave the Finalizer. You know that. The troopers, they’re my responsibility. But you, you could have your own life out here. No one would know how you got here, unless you told them. You could start over, a new position, overseeing this operation. Food, shelter, and a wage to spend however you like.”

Rey stumbled as she felt the ground shift. The haze of calamity suffocated her, clapping its hands over her ringing ears. Tears welled up in her eyes; she didn’t bother to fight them back. The hot tracks boiled over her chilled skin. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to start over, not again,” she begged.

Phasma grasped Rey’s face with both hands, shaking her head with each word. “Don’t you understand? You’ve sold yourself. I can’t keep you like this, not with how I’ve grown to care for you. I don’t want you to live this life out of desperation.”

The thought that this could be the last touch she ever experienced from Phasma made Rey appreciate the contact even amid the pain. She choked on her sobs and countered, “I’m not. I’m not desperate. I decided to come with you. I decided to stay.”

Pain contorted Phasma’s features; her nostrils flared with rapid breaths, though she did not devolve to tears. “I didn’t leave much of a choice. It was wrong to push you, wrong to make you so reliant on me alone.”

Rey pleaded, nearly shouted, “Not now. I’m choosing right now.” Her chest began to heave.

Phasma dropped her hands and let Rey sag forward. “I may have taken your freedom, but I can also give it back. I’ve already put in a transfer for you. You’re to stay on Akiva. Through those doors, you’ll find the foreman. He’ll take care of anything you need; I’ve made sure of it.” She pointed in the direction of the warehouse, but Rey didn’t turn to look.

“Don’t do this,” Rey bit out, anger growing with her sorrow.

“It’s for the best,” Phasma replied, finality in her tone.

Rey coughed away the mucus clogging her throat. Her voice was harsh as she tried to reason, “But to have known each as we have grown to. To have felt as we have felt, and I know you feel it too. Don’t shut it out, let yourself feel. It would be the cruelest shame to now be strangers.” Rey grasped for anything to persuade, preying on pathos.

“The greater shame is that we were ever anything but,” Phasma rejoined. A deep furrow had dug its way between Phasma’s brows. Her eyes had sharpened to points that pierced through Rey’s sorrow, down to the center of her heart.

Phasma placed her helmet back on to hide her ashen face. She didn’t wait to hear another response from Rey. Rather, she turned her heel and strode quickly to the exit, no backwards glances. If she had looked back, she would have seen Rey crumple to a pile of silent howls.

Shock immobilized Rey, all she could do was shake from deep within her bones and blink her bleary eyes until the tears stopped blinding her. Her whole body was raw—her throat, her eyes, her fists from catching her fall to the floor. The pain anchored her in a moment when nothing seemed real.

The blast of a shuttle taking off managed to cut through the din the droids produced. Rey felt the distance between Phasma and her grow. Clouds gathered to occlude the single point of light in her recent life. She had to act. She couldn’t stay. This place would never be her home. She wouldn’t let it be the end. Phasma didn’t understand, she was too deep in her own guilt. But Rey, she could make her see that she was not a captive, that this was merely misplaced self-sacrifice.

Rey scrambled to her feet, tripping over the toe of her boot, and sprinted to the door. Only one shuttle was overhead. The others had not yet left the warehouse, and their transport was still waiting with hatch wide open.

Rey scrubbed her face with her shirt, though she was sure her attempt to mask her emotion was pitiful at best. She breathed in until her lungs could take no more, then held it before she attempted a steadying exhale. Her imitation of nonchalance was challenged by the heavy, humid air she cut her way through.

Rey approached the shuttle and stepped on board. It was empty except for the pilot, who was busy chatting on the comlink. She stalked to the cargo hold and found a cranny to wedge herself in, then closed her eyes. It was a tight fit, and the corner of a crate bit into her flank. Her lips mouthed a prayer. Though she doubted anyone but Mitaka was aware of Phasma’s attempted abandonment, it would be easier if she could make her way undiscovered.

It turned out to be a lengthy wait for the shuttle to take off. Rey’s stomach emptied and her bladder filled, but she refused to risk exposure to alleviate her discomfort. The drop out of hyperspace had Rey reeling, and by the time the shuttle docked at the Finalizer, her belly was wracked by cramps.

Rey scampered out of the cargo hold once she was confident the others were clear, their voices long abated. Her lonely explorations of the ship had provided her with an ample understanding of the docks. It was a short walk down the corridor and a sharp left to the public refresher in this zone. She grabbed a ration bar from a vending machine and gobbled it down in the stall, trying to ignore the acrid smell of disinfectant that hung in the air. On her way out, she sucked in water to wash the dry, flavorless residue from her mouth.

If she hurried, Rey could make it back before Phasma’s shift was due to end.

Rey did not think during the lift ride and walk to their—or rather Phasma’s—rooms. Muscle memory led her to the door. Her consciousness had been eclipsed by a high frequency wave of adrenaline. She closed her eyes and placed her palm in front of the door sensor, hoping that Phasma had not yet eradicated her data from the ship’s systems.

The door slid open, and Rey peered inside. The sitting room was dark and empty, but the door to Rey’s former room was open. The light that escaped her room painted a streak of courage across the darkness. Rey didn’t feel herself move until she was already at the door, but there she stopped, unable to approach the sight she saw.

Phasma sat slumped on the floor, still in her armor, her helmet cast beside her. In her arms, she cradled Rey’s staff like a precious babe. She shifted from side to side, as if she were rocking it to sleep.

When Phasma looked up, her eyes didn’t seem to recognize Rey at first; they were vacant pools of loss. Rey now knew what Phasma had meant when she said she couldn’t ignore the way Rey’s bare eyes spoke of despair on that day, weeks ago. Rey crouched down next to Phasma, and for the first time, she saw a wet sheen in Phasma’s eyes.

Phasma’s lids widened with disbelief, but the glistening tears didn’t spill over. She whispered so low Rey could barely hear her, as if Rey were a phantom she would frighten away. “This can’t be all that is left of you. Can it?”

Rey grabbed the staff and stole it from Phasma’s embrace. In its place, she lay herself. She could hear the hiccup in Phasma’s frenzied breathing. “It doesn’t need to be,” Rey murmured.

Rey felt hot tears rain down on her neck. They softened the cracked soil. With time, they could perhaps render it fertile.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me about cute space lesbians on [Tumblr](http://sinnotalone.tumblr.com).


End file.
